An English Heaven
by Jner
Summary: Harry watched as Arthur bent his ear to her mouth and then to her chest. "She's breathing but she probably won't be for long if she doesn't get some medical attention.
1. Default Chapter

****

**AN ENGLISH HEAVEN**

**Jner**

**CHAPTER ONE: The Killjoy**

It seemed to get darker earlier with each passing day. This coupled with the gray sky when it actually _was_ light out, along with her loneliness, was starting to eat away at her. This winter was unusually bitter, the high winds and the icy rain made her nights alone all the more cold without him there.

It wasn't as though she was really lonely. She had family that were always there for her and plenty of friends who would gladly give her company–and they did. It was just that she missed him terribly at night. She had grown accustomed to feeling his warm weight next to her in bed, the soft rise and fall of his breathing, and his quiet mumbles from dreams. When they were first married, she'd had a very difficult time sharing a bed; being the only girl in a family full of boys kept her in her own room and bed for all the time she had lived there. But now she had trouble sleeping when he wasn't there–even if she didn't have to fight for the covers.

They'd only been married for a little over three years, enough time, some would say, to dampen their ardor for one another, but it was not so. The absence of her husband left her feeling not just lonely, but entirely bereft as though part of her was missing. His business trips hadn't come about until the early summer and initially, they were both very pleased with his bonus in pay as well in title. But neither were really prepared for the amount of time he was required to spend away from home.

They'd started discussing it just last week when he was preparing to leave her once again.

"Gin, I'm sorry, but I've got to go. I can't be late again," he said as he kissed her cheek softly before bending to pick up his bag.

"I know. How long this time?"

"Only four days."

Her eyes twinkled. "It's a good thing too because I don't know if I could get in all the fun I have planned if it were any less."

He smiled his crooked smile and tugged at her hair. "You'll have to cancel the male entertainment, love, because I don't think Hermione or Ange would take part or put in any money."

"I'll miss you," she said, suddenly serious. "It just doesn't seem worth it, does it?"

He shook his head and straightened up to prepare to Apparate. "No, it doesn't. In fact," he said, shifting the bag on his shoulder, "I'd rather have my old job back, but we'll talk more about it when I get back. Love you," he said before he disappeared from her sight.

It was a testament to his dislike for his current position for him to want his old job back. Before, he had worked very odd hours and was on call most weekends which made spending any time together nearly impossible. With her working at the Apothecary days and him at the Ministry at night, they had only seen each other in comings and goings. Some (mostly those with red hair just like her own) said that the reason their marriage was so healthy was because they never spent enough time together to start an argument. But whether or not that was the case, she just knew that she craved Harry and no matter how much time they spent together, it wasn't enough. So, even with his promotion and their increase in time together, she still felt detached from him. Him being promoted to an Auror-Trainer, where he could see a different side of his chosen profession, had sounded the perfect solution to their problems, for he would work the same hours as she and he would only be required to be gone one weekend a month.

Of course now that strange deaths were occurring all over England, he was gone almost every weekend and then some, training all the new recruits that were needed. Then, on top of it all, he told her that he was also needed back in active duty effective ten days ago. This scared her, but more than anything, she was angry. She knew Harry could handle himself, he always had. What made her angry was the fact that all he had ever done was fight. True, he chose his profession, there wasn't anything she could do but support him, but he, above anyone else, had given more than anyone. He deserved to relax and to live a happy, peace-filled life, and when the opportunity finally came for him to teach defense rather than doing the actual fighting, it was taken from him.

She cleared her head of those all too frequent thoughts and focused on tonight. He was coming home sometime soon - within the hour as it were - and she was, to put it mildly, ready for him in more ways than one.

Four days really wasn't all that bad as she had endured longer separations. Perhaps this time it felt so much longer because she had news for him, the type of news that when bottled up for too long might make her explode if she couldn't relieve the coursing excitement that was her constant companion.

She smiled brightly to herself as she placed her palm over her slightly raised stomach. She had found out two days ago that she and Harry were expecting in seven months. How was it that she hadn't known? Looking back it made perfect sense: her morning sickness, her mood swings, and sudden hatred for anything containing pumpkin all added up to this end. She had noticed she'd started to gain some weight, but had shrugged that off as too much stress and too many biscuits.

_Harry will be so pleased!_ She thought as she pulled her curled hair into an elaborate up-do. The curly tresses fell to her bare neck and she looked herself over in the mirror. She had plans tonight -a celebration was in order- a celebration of Harry returning home and for the new addition to their small family. She couldn't wait to tell him that he'd soon be a father.

The lighted candles around their room flickered silently and softly as she dressed herself. Yes, Harry would be pleased with his gift, wrapped up in dark blue satin that fell against her thighs, he would indeed be happy to see her. She enclosed herself in a matching nightdress and moved into the kitchen to light the candles on the dinner table. He would no doubt be hungry but the food would have to come later; she would tell him their news first, start the celebration, then they could eat.

Everything was ready and she stood back to admire her work. The soft ticking of the clock on the kitchen mantle was set in time with her beating heart. It was so quiet that it pressed on her ears and made her suddenly and strangely anxious. It was almost too quiet, she noted, as she moved to the window to see if the rain had indeed stopped. The now slushy ground was just as bleak as it had been earlier, but the bare trees had finally stopped thrashing about from the frigid gusts of wind, making an eerie stillness come over the house. Having grown up in a house that was never quiet, one where she had to fight to get privacy, it was no wonder that silence made her uncomfortable.

To make time go by faster, and to better ignore the stillness and silence surrounding her, she employed herself in writing a return letter to Angelina, George's wife. It took all her will power not to tell her their news. No one but her and the Healer knew she was with child, and she felt Harry should know before the rest of her family or friends.

The letter was finished and sent, her hair was starting to loose its curl, the candles were nearly burnt out, Ginny was slowly giving into the sleepiness that threatened, and Harry was still not home.

She laid down on top of the bed clothes, just to rest her eyes for a moment. A small nap before he arrived would be just what she needed.

All too soon, soft light filtered through the curtained windows and rested against her eyes. She turned over in her sleep, reaching an arm to pull the blankets back to her side that Harry had a habit of stealing, but found nothing but the cool and flat surface of the bed. Her eyes flew open as she realized that she was still on top of her bed, in her negligée, and Harry was still away.

_He should be here by now_, she thought as concern started to creep its way into her mind. _Active duty.__ Dark Mark. Murders._ "Sweet Merlin, let him be alright."

Swallowing the panic that could so easily overcome her, she quickly got dressed and walked steadily to her fire, determined to force away her rising consternation. After putting on a pot of tea and chanting a mantra of _he's fine, he's just late, he's fine_ to herself, she still could not stem the raging flow of worry that was starting to drown out her hopes. Harry had never been late before, always calling her ahead of time to inform her of any schedule changes.

Decided, she rummaged through her kitchen drawers, searching for the piece of paper that contained Harry's work Floo-password and called into the fire, making the Ministry Auror Division office swim into view.

A receptionist's desk sat directly in front of her but it wasn't occupied at the moment. In fact, she couldn't see anyone but she wasn't sure if that was a good sign or bad. Her eyes fell upon a wall clock to the right of the desk and some of her anxiousness left her; it was still early, only a little past seven and the office didn't become fully functional until eight. She comforted herself further with the thought that if anything untoward had happened, the office would be swarming with people. But still, Harry was not home and that was not a comforting thought in the least.

Pacing the kitchen and wringing her hands, she took deep, steadying breaths. She tried again: telling herself that Harry was safe, that he could take care of himself, and if anything _had_ actually happened, she'd be among the first to know; but she still could not stifle the dread that took hold of her heart, making it feel as though it had altogether stopped beating.

Submerged memories from the past spun in her head, a whirlpool of horrid images of what she had seen throughout her not-so-distant past. The war and its casualties, the ever-present promise of death to those she loved, the carnage that she witnessed and even took part in.... Harry was not immune, nor had he ever been, and now it seemed as though it were starting all over again. Her stomach churned with worry and she knew she was going to be sick. She ran to the loo as fast as she could, making it just in time, retching her fear, her anger, and the all consuming worry that filled her.

Gripping the toilet as though it would supply her with some type of comfort, and resting her head against its coolness, she retched again, though there was nothing left to heave out of her system. The spasms of her stomach and the jerking of her body hurt terribly but she was almost used to this morning routine and she welcomed it as a distraction from the pain in her heart.

"Ginny?"

Her brown eyes, so close to tears, found concerned green ones staring down at her.

"Oh, Harry!" she cried as she reached for him. "Harry, where were you? I was so worried!"

"Are you ill again? What's happened?" he asked, not answering her questions, his brow furrowed in deep worry. "Ginny, come lie down."

He directed her to the bed and kneeled at her side while running a roughened hand down her arm in a soothing manner. "Tell me what's happened. Do you want me to call the Healer?" he asked as he conjured a warm and damp washcloth for her. He watched her wipe her face and mouth, his concern for her evident in every line of his face.

She sat up and hung her legs over the side of the bed, looking down at him. "No, don't call," she said a bit apologetically. "I was mostly just worried. You didn't come home last night and I suppose I panicked a bit."

"You've worried yourself sick?" he said unbelievingly, a trace of bemusement touching his eyes.

"More or less," she said vaguely.

He threw her a confused look but she didn't want to tell him her nausea was related to being pregnant–not this way.

"Well, what was I supposed to think?" she said, suddenly agitated. "It wasn't that long ago that you tell me you've got to go into active duty, there's all these deaths being reported, and then you leave me for a whole four days and don't come home when you said you would." She said this all in quick succession, growing louder with each uttered worry but calmed considerably when he took her hands in his.

"I'm sorry Ginny. I wanted to contact you last night but we were in a magic sensitive area and it would have compromised our location."

"Compromised? What's going on, Harry?" she asked, a warning in her voice. Harry was making it sound as though his business trip wasn't a trip at all, but more like a mission.

He looked at her solemnly and sat down next to her. "You know the Blakeneys? Well, they were killed two days ago and the Dark Mark was left above their home." He ran a hand through his hair and nodded at her stunned expression. "We had a lead and followed it yesterday but it took a bit longer than we expected. Anyway, I couldn't send you a message by owl because I didn't have one, and even if I did, it would have been noticed, and we were nowhere near a fireplace so I couldn't Floo. I'm really sorry, Gin."

She nodded and frowned sadly at this new information. The Blakeneys had been very kind to them and had always seemed like such nice people. True, they didn't really know them all that well, but it was still sad and scary to think that the uncaptured Death Eaters were starting up with their told tricks again.

"Come on," said Harry after a moment of quiet thought. "Let's get you cleaned up."

After a small breakfast, a good tooth brushing, and a shower, Ginny felt much better. She found Harry napping, his arm thrown over his eyes to block out the feeble light that fell over him. She smiled softly as she made her way to him to cuddle up next to his warmth. Feeling immediately content as she found her spot against him, she breathed in his scent, listened to his soothing breathing, and basked in the familiar feel of his body so close to hers. Oh, how she had missed him! And such simple things too, she found, were the things she missed the most. She had tried to memorize the way his coarse hands felt or the way his crooked grin formed a small dimple on his left cheek, so when he did leave, she would remember it perfectly, but when the time came and he was gone, she could never remember well enough.

She remembered the first time he had to leave early in their marriage, for only a few days, but it was still their first time apart overnight and she had cried into her pillow. She had felt so foolish, first because she wasn't one to cry easily, and second, because she was such an independent person that something as trivial as this shouldn't have wreaked so much havoc in her life. Being upset that she had to spend two nights alone, like she had on countless other occasions, seemed so juvenile and simple that she was annoyed with herself but still could not help the way she felt. When he had arrived home, she was happy to see that Harry had missed her just as much. He had walked through the front door, and looking up from her book, she immediately tossed it aside and made for him. He met her half way and when they met with a burning kiss, she knew that without his touch, she just might as well shrivel up and die. She needed him just as he needed her.

Smiling stupidly at the memories, she unconsciously squeezed him with her arms, which had snaked themselves around him.

"Mmmm," he mumbled incoherently as he turned and brought his own arms around her to return the gesture. "Sorry I fell asleep," he said as he tried to stifle a yawn and check his watch. "I wanted to ask you what you did while I was gone. How was work?"

She forced the bright smile that threatened to give away that she was holding a secret off her face and pushed herself up on one elbow. His eyes were always the greenest when he first woke up and without his glasses, they stood out even more.

"Oh, the usual. You know how Cindy gets during this time of year."

"But Christmas isn't for another month!"

"I know, but business usually picks up around now and she has scheduling problems."

"Probably all those anti-depressant potions for the upcoming holidays," said Harry, a small smile bringing out that much-loved dimple.

She smiled back, thinking about how she should bring up what she so desperately wanted to tell him.

"I uh–I went to the Healer a few days ago," she ventured, picking at the bedspread.

"Oh good. I was getting worried about you, as you've been so sick lately. What did you find out?"

"Well," she said, holding the serious expression on her face and looking him in the eye. "It's much more serious than I initially thought."

At this, Harry stopped twirling a strand of her long hair between his fingers, his face suddenly somber. "What do you mean?"

She dipped her head down, hiding her face from view, not for dramatic effect, but because she didn't want him to see the grin breaking through her staid features.

"Ginny, what's wrong? Look at me."

Her bright smile, stretching to its fullest with delight, although still hidden from his view, could not be repressed any longer. "It's certainly not going to just go away...."

He lifted her chin upwards with his hand so he could see her face. Most likely prepared to see the beginnings of tears in his wife's eyes, he was thoroughly confused to see her smile.

She laughed musically at his confusion and hugged him. "Harry, I'm pregnant!"

He stayed motionless for a moment, apparently too blind-sided by this information to register any of it. But after he blinked stupidly a few times, his mouth dropped open in happy surprise.

"What? You're sure? When?" he asked giddily in quick succession, grabbing hold of her upper arms.

"We're two months along!" she said happily, even more excited by Harry's overflowing enthusiasm.

"Oh, Gin!" he said, all but giggling as he pulled her into a hug. "This is…this is so wonderful!" he laughed, his eyes bright. "How long have you known?"

"I found out only two days ago. You would have loved it, Harry," she said as she maneuvered to her knees, Harry following her. "The Healer used this charm so I could hear its heartbeat and it was so fast. You have to come with me next time so you can hear it too."

"You heard its heartbeat?" Harry asked, a bit disappointed that he hadn't been there. "When do you go again?"

"Not for another four weeks. Say you'll come."

"Of course!" he blurted, his wide smile displaying his gaiety. "I wouldn't miss it for the world! Oh, Gin, I'm so happy."

"You should have seen your face!" she said, pointing at him and laughing.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him, reaching his other hand out to tickle her side. She writhed and let out a shriek of laughter at his assault, but couldn't pull away.

"That was a dirty trick you pulled; you scared me half to death!" he said as they collapsed on the bed, Ginny gasping for air between twitters of laughter.

They stayed motionless for a moment, Harry feeling thoroughly delighted. He reckoned he'd probably have a stupid-looking grin plastered to his face for the rest of his life, but he didn't care. They were going to have a baby.

"Next time try not giving me a heart attack." he said after Ginny scooted closer to him, putting her arms around his neck.

She smiled wickedly. "I did have other plans, you know, but they fell through as you didn't show up last night."

"I'm sure they were equally misleading. I swear you're no different from the twins."

"Actually," she said as she ran a suggestive finger down his chin to the neck of his shirt, pulling his loosened tie apart completely. "They were altogether different and had nothing to do with the twins although I could Floo them over if you'd like – though I'm not sure their wives would approve or that they would be up for it."

He smiled and pulled her closer so she was half atop him, kissing her gently. "Ginny, this is so wonderful...."

She didn't let him finish his sentiments as she found his lips again, commencing the celebration that she had so eagerly planned on.

Before she knew it, the day was half gone and her stomach was growling with need of sustenance. Harry's arm that was draped over her withdrew until his worn hand covered their unborn child. He snuggled in closer to his wife, nuzzling her neck.

"We need more time like this," he said against her ear making the fine hairs surrounding it stir and tickle her neck. "I really missed you."

She didn't say anything but simply found his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"I'm so happy, Gin. I couldn't think of anything better than starting a family with you. I love you so much." He punctuated the last remark with a kiss just below her ear lobe, making her pulse quicken almost instantly.

They lay like that, spooning in silence, for several more moments before Harry's manner changed completely. He flexed his hand over her stomach and pulled her hips closer to his in a possessive, almost protective manner.

"When we were called out of our meeting," he began, "I wanted to tell you but there was no time. They said that a wizarding family had been killed, a whole family, even the wife and kids..." He paused momentarily and squeezed her tighter as though scared she might suddenly disappear. "It reminded me of the war."

She turned then, in his embrace, and faced him. His eyes had lost their sparkle and a sorrowful look had overtaken his countenance. She knew what he was trying to say, she knew that he feared for their small family and worried for the fragile life they were given to protect.

"I don't know what I'd do if you were ever hurt. You or the baby."

Ginny kissed him softly, trying to reassure and calm him. "Harry, we'll be fine. It's not like last time; Voldemort's dead, he can't hurt us."

"Voldemort wasn't the only menace in the world, he wasn't the only one that craved power and destruction."

Stroking his cheek softly, the pricklings of his facial hair rough against her smooth hand, she looked him in the eye. "We'll never be rid of them, love. Not everyone is good and decent. The best we can do is continue living and do the best with what we're given."

He sighed deeply and pulled her to him in a strong hug. "We need to be careful, Ginny. Something is coming...I can feel it."

A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, Hollow Godric, for all his support and for all he does! Thanks to Kelly and T'Rell because they listen politely while I ramble on and on about all things Harry Potter. Not only this, but they're dear friends to me who have always been a great support.

I should cite that I shamefully stole the title of this fic from Rupert Brooke's poem The Soldier. Those who know me, know that I have a soft spot for poetry…angsty poetry. It's quite wonderful so I've included it for those who care to read. Found at:

Oh, and ten points to anyone who knows where the Blakeneys come from!

The Soldier

If I should die, think only this of me:  
That there's some corner of a foreign field  
That is forever England. There shall be  
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;  
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,  
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,  
A body of England's, breathing English air,  
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,  
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less  
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;  
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;  
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,  
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.


	2. Expecting the Unexpected

**2: Expecting the Unexpected**

It was with great reluctance that Ginny had pulled herself out of bed the following morning. Duty had called as the wake alarm sounded and before she had known it, she'd found herself, once again, in a soothing shower_._ She had never before imagined that she would work for an Apothecary. She actually hadn't liked potions classes all that well when she'd attended Hogwarts but she'd blamed that on Snape and his prideful disdain for all things Gryffindor and Weasley.

She, much like her twin brothers, had had a knack for concocting new devices and coming up with inventive products. But unlike them, she'd focused her brilliant talents, not on jokes or explosives, but on medications for St. Mungo's. Her performance in potions class had always been rather mediocre, but to her surprise, she'd received an Outstanding on her O.W.L.s and earned a potions N.E.W.T. as well. In so doing, she'd opened several doors for future employment. She'd received several offers the summer after graduation with various businesses needing a potion-competent employee, but she'd chosen to work at St. Mungo's for the many opportunities to do good works. She'd liked the idea that her unique talent with plants, coupled with her patience and knowledge in potions, had helped others, particularly those who had had little hope of recovery.

During the final battle, when so many had lain dying with no hope or comfort, she'd gone to her cauldron, as though in a daze, picked the necessary ingredients (not really knowing _how_ she knew what to choose–she'd just _known_), stewed and toiled for hours, and had come up with a draught to ease the pain caused by Voldemort and his minions. In those few horrible weeks after the battle, she had concocted six new remedies for pain, dizziness, loss of blood, head wounds, and most importantly, two remedies for nerve damage. All this had been done from her head and her heart; hours of painstaking precision and exactness had been spent over several different fires, wanting only to end the suffering of so many nameless faces she'd seen lining the halls of the hospital.

But not all had been nameless.

_She remembered well the way her heart ached as she entered the bloody mass of bodies, broken and without hope; waiting for help, waiting to die. They lined the halls of the hospital, staining the walls with their blood, each a horrible testament to what hatred produced. _

_She was hit with an overwhelming sense of pain and disarray, as if she herself were lying among the physically wounded. It hurt to look at them all: hundreds, stacked, leaning, hurting. _

It still hurts, after all this time.

_But then her eyes had fallen upon a familiar blaze of red hair and for the first time in her life, she understood what real pain was. Percy. The small fire of hysteria that was in her belly had suddenly erupted, the focus of her pain shifting to a razor sharp sting. The countless wounded around her dissolved and all she knew was a potent hurt, an overwhelming pain at seeing her brother broken. He was bruised, caked with congealed blood; his lifeless eyes stared blankly past her and she was completely consumed with a terror she had never before known. _

_He had defiantly chosen to stay estranged from their family regardless of that bumbling fool Fudge and the crumbling Ministry, and sadly, they had never reconciled their differences. He had died without saying goodbye and without him knowing just how much she loved him. _

_It had only been a month since Ginny had run into him on the street and she'd called him such horrible things. He scarcely looked at her, walking briskly down the footpath, but she followed. How was she to know that at that time he was working as a double agent—even her family couldn't know his true intentions. She'd called him a traitor, a deserter, and a coward at the top of her lungs. That wasn't the worst of it though. She'd told him that she would never forgive him. Never. And now look…._

_Crying, trying her best to cradle his broken body, Ginny felt for the first time during those terrible, fear-filled months, utterly defeated. How could they survive so much unadulterated and senseless hate? _

_It was nothing less than a slaughter and she was powerless to stop it._

_Finally the tears had faded and, still holding Percy's limp form, she was broken from her stupor by a familiar voice. It was McGonagall. She had brought in a load of freshly wounded that needed immediate care and was trying to gently pry Ginny's fingers off her brother's useless body._

_"Miss Weasley...." She didn't respond. "Miss Weasley! This is most unfortunate but we need you desperately. There are more wounded arriving shortly…."_

_So what if more people died? What could she do? What did she care? Percy was dead. _

_"Miss Weasley! It's your duty!" McGonagall said, trying, once again, to peel away the fingers tightly wrapped around Percy's wrist. _

_"Ginny," McGonagall tried in soothing tones, right into her ear. "Ginny, there's nothing you can do for him...."_

_Still, Ginny was unmoved for she felt so completely helpless and small, was so consumed with regret, that she scarcely registered what she was hearing. _

_"We need you, Ginny…"_

_How could she have ever thought her brother, perfect, prefect Percy, would ever doubt Dumbledore? _

_"He's not the only one…" McGonagall's voice broke through the numbing stupor in her brain._

_Percy, the one who helped her so much during her first year, the brother that adored Dumbledore, who called him a genius, the best wizard in the world. She would never doubt anyone she loved again._

_"Ginny, please, it's Bill…"_

_Yes, Bill too. She'd die before she hurt one of her family members like that again. She couldn't begin to imagine what pain Percy had gone through to uphold his secret. _

_"Did you hear me, Ginny? Bill—he's been badly hurt…"_

_The dizzying fog in her brain suddenly stilled at those words. What had she said? Something about Bill?_

_She pulled her eyes away from Percy with a great effort and met McGonagall's saddened countenance._

_"Ginny, we're counting on you. Bill—he's been badly hurt with the Cruciatus cruse. We need some pain relieving draughts made as we're nearly out....that's it, let go—let go, now—that's it—."_

It had been then, in the most desperate hours of the Last Battle, that she'd come through and aided so many of the less fortunate. She had received a Merlin First Class for her noble work and for the historical ramifications of her inventions. But she hadn't wanted it; it was in some unmarked box in the recesses of a closet along with Harry's various awards. They were meaningless in their eyes for nothing could begin to apologize or repair what they had lost.

She sighed softly at the sad memories as she toweled her hair dry. Not wanting to start the day on such a melancholy note, she forced those thoughts away and dwelled on the man just outside the bathroom door. He didn't have to work today as he just arrived home from a rather draining experience and was on a short leave.

Opening the door quietly and entering the darkened room, she saw her husband sleeping peacefully, his tousled hair even messier from sleep and ...celebration.

She had to stop to gaze at him lovingly. It amazed her sometimes just how boyish he could appear and how playful he could be at times. Even now, unconscious, he more resembled a sleeping child than the man he was. His limbs were sprawled in every direction, one bare leg poking out from the rumpled sheets. Every so often, he would change direction and flop on his other side, taking the remaining bedclothes with him.

She smiled and chuckled to herself as she made her way toward him. She had a sudden urge to run a hand through his hair and kiss him to wake him up properly.

Kneeling down at the side of the bed, so her head was level with his, she brought her finger up to gently touch his nose. She withdrew it immediately and was rewarded with a small grumble and a twitch of his nose. Her smile grew broader as she leaned in to flutter small kisses on his face, ending finally with his mouth. A new noise erupted from him this time, altogether different from a grumble, but still coming from somewhere deep within his throat.

"Good morning," she whispered before claiming his lips once more.

"Mmmm," was his only reply as he deepened their kiss, but then his eyes snapped open when she pulled away.

"I've got to go to work but I should be home around four."

"Don't go. Call in sick."

She let out a snort of laughter.

"I need you here with me," he said, putting words to action as he pulled her to him, kissing her intently once more.

She started to kiss him back with equal need, caught in his trap, but stopped abruptly and pulled away from him.

She smiled crookedly at him. "Again? I was 'sick' two weeks ago, remember?"

He smiled, pausing for a moment as his eyes became unfocused as though he were remembering. "Oh yeah," he said, his smile growing brighter. "But it wasn't lying—you did spend the whole day in bed." His eyes focused on her, bright with happiness.

She laughed fully and stood to leave. "I'll be home around four, alright?"

He nodded sadly and waved her away. "Leave then," he said, a small smile betraying his supposed misery. "Leave me in my time of need."

"You, Mr. Potter, are always in need."

"Indeed," he said, propping himself up on one elbow and resting his head in his hand, his eyes twinkling with merriment.

She shook her head in bemusement while searching her robe pocket for her wand.

"Ginny, please be careful," he said, grabbing her hand. "I don't know if anything will happen, maybe I'm just being paranoid, but I _feel_ like something just terrible is in the works. Please, promise me you'll be cautious.

"Constant vigilance and all that?" she asked, trying to lighten the suddenly darkened mood.

He nodded, his burning green eyes tunneling into her own. "Promise me."

"Of course." she said as she bent to kiss him goodbye one last time.

Ginny enjoyed her work, she really did, but she found herself completely drained of all energy as she put the last few vials away and cleaned her mess. It was certainly demanding and stressful at times, but the good points always outweighed the bad, for which she was grateful.

Cindy, her coworker and supervisor (as she'd been there the longest), was fitfully rummaging through a stack of parchment on her desk.

"What're you looking for?" Ginny asked absentmindedly.

"I…nothing." Cindy said dismissively, once again looking down at her desk.

Ginny shrugged and continued to replace the vials to their respective places. She'd accomplished a lot today: three full batches of Dreamless Sleep Potion, one cauldron of Anti-Venom, and two Pepperup Potions. Now all she needed to do was work a bit on her research project. Making her way to the enchanted filing cabinet, she saw Cindy hang her head in her hands then let it fall on the tabletop with a dull thud.

"Cindy?" she asked with concern, quickly reaching her side and gently touching her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Oh Ginny, it's just horrible. You'll be so angry." she said, her voice muffled against the cherry wood desk.

Ginny let out a noise of confusion, completely baffled at Cindy's behavior.

"What? Why would I ever be angry with you?"

"The Draught formula…its…gone missing." she said as she finally lifted her head and met Ginny's eyes.

"What do you mean? How could it be gone?" Ginny asked, warning laced in her tone.

For a year now, they had been developing a potion involving the restoration of memories. It was difficult, high priority, as well as top secret, and involved a great deal of their time and energy. Ginny herself had lost many nights sleep over the nearly-completed and complicated recipe and had spent even more time, after hours, trying to work out the kinks. They had thought a few times that they had succeeded and had been elated to have finally reached their goal, but it had always turned out that it wasn't quite right, that something was missing. So, they would start again, painstakingly and meticulously redesigning their formula through countless hours of research and study.

Last month, though, they had reached a breakthrough and had some success with a few patients. Ginny felt that they had, indeed, created something quite exciting as well as useful. They were, however, under strict command of the Ministry, not to disclose any information pertaining to their work. If it fell into the wrong hands it could cause considerable damage to their regulation of certain lawbreakers.

Once the Dementors had fled from Azkaban to Voldemort's side, just as Dumbledore had predicted, the Ministry had been left with the difficult problem of how to contain their prisoners. Ron had been the one to mention the remedy to his father, who in turn, had informed Dumbledore. Dumbledore had been acting as a temporary interim in place of Fudge, who had been murdered fairly early in the war, presumably on Voldemort's command, to cause even more discord and interruption within the already failing Ministry.

Without Dementors to guard and very little funds during wartime, depriving the convicts of their memories had been a quick solution. Much like Gilderoy Lockheart, they had become completely confused and nonviolent, forgetting their need to fight or their beliefs involving the war, much less of anything else. Thus, Azkaban had been turned into a mental hospital rather than a prison, and had solved the Ministry's problems temporarily. After the war and after Ginny's talents became known, she had been asked to develop a potion to restore the captured Death Eaters' lost memory to put them through a proper trial. The first year and a half had been dedicated to research alone and without Cindy's help, she would have gone mad. As it were, they had come very far and had attempted several draughts, each getting better results.

Cindy had well understood why this information couldn't be leaked and they had taken every precaution before they left each afternoon to place protective spells over their findings. So when Cindy proclaimed that it'd gone missing, Ginny's heart all but stopped beating.

"What exactly is missing?" she tried in a calm voice.

"The formula! The final procedures!" Cindy said, her voice panicked.

Although Cindy was Ginny's supervisor, she was very much like a child: always misplacing items and knocking things over. It was a miracle she hadn't started herself of fire yet. Pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes, Ginny tried to be levelheaded about this.

"Oh, Ginny..." she said, her large, glassy eyes pleading for forgiveness. "Ginny, I'm so sorry."

"Sorry?" Ginny said a bit more forcefully than she intended. She walked briskly over to Cindy's desk, searching for the parchment herself, but didn't see it. "Did you take it out of the lab? Anywhere at all?"

Cindy nodded ever so slightly, still gazing intently at Ginny with scared, wide eyes. "I…I took it home two days ago to work out the proportion of Pimpernel to Saw Grass…but I swear I brought it straight back, Ginny. I swear!"

Ginny closed her eyes once again and swallowed her annoyance and anger. It would do no good to get angry, what was done was done.

"Are you certain you brought it back? Is there any chance it's still there?" Ginny had no doubt in her mind that it was most likely sitting on Cindy's coffee table being used as a coaster, or other such thing, and would be returned tomorrow with blotchy spots of tea all over it.

Cindy stood and started to pace, wringing her hands violently. "I suppose. Yes, it must be." she said with a determined nod. "Yes, that's where it is, I'm sure. I suppose I've stuck my foot in it this time, eh?" she laughed nervously. "I'm really sorry! I just wanted to work a bit more on it, that's all—and I planned on bringing it straight back. Then yesterday we didn't work on it at all and, and so I must have missed it again. Oh, I feel such a fool!"

Ginny sighed in pity for her. "I'm sure it's fine, Cindy. Just bring it tomorrow, alright?" There really was nothing she could do and she certainly didn't want to spoil her evening so she consigned to work on something else until it was time to leave.

The sound of crunchy snow filled her ears as she tramped through the town square. Ginny frowned at the cold wind that bit at her uncovered face and hands. Not that it would do much good if they were covered – even though her winter cloak was thick and heavy, the chill still cut through her, making her shiver. She always disliked how the sun set so early in the winter as she was already straining her eyes to read the little shop signs through the dark. She had a couple stops to make on her way home: one to pick up a book she'd ordered, and the next to pick up some dinner for later.

She walked the familiar road to her favorite bookshop in haste to get out of the cold. Passing a handful of people she knew, she nodded her "hellos" but continued on her way.

Finally reaching the small shop, she felt her mouth curve into a smile. She loved this bookstore. It was cozy and homey and smelled slightly of mildew. Although she now had money that she could spend on new ones, she still preferred to buy books secondhand. She loved the smell of old books and spent all of her time in the used sections rather than the ones containing the latest editions.

A bell tinkled its merry tune as she opened and shut the heavy oak door, letting her eyes become accustomed to the dazzling light inside.

"Ah, Mrs. Potter! How lovely to see you again!" chimed an elderly man dusting the shelves.

"Hello, Mr. Foulkes," Ginny said happily as she rummaged for her handkerchief to wipe at her runny nose.

"I've got your order for you behind the counter."

"Take your time, I'm in no hurry."

He nodded and continued his work as she found the section she was looking for.

She was slightly surprised to see so many books on pregnancy and motherhood in this small business, but was nevertheless very pleased. Flipping through various books, she saw snippets of phrases that made her giddy with excitement: "determining the sex of the baby," "choosing names," and "ready for delivery."

She pursed her lips in thought, trying to decide which she should purchase. One had a lot of colorful photographs of the baby's stages, while the other had a lot of information on what to expect after it was born. Wetting her lips, she made her decision and brought both to the front of the store.

"Ready?" the old man asked.

Ginny nodded, still smiling brightly at what lay ahead of her. She and Harry were going to be parents and she couldn't think of anything she wanted more.

Mr. Foulkes pulled her ordered book, Properties of Magical Fungi, from an unseen shelf under the counter. It was superbly wrapped in heavy brown parchment with the store stamp, _Reader's Rapture_, in one corner, finished with green twine, as was his custom.

"These too, please." she said happily.

He took the books from her and looking up from their titles, gave her a knowing smile. "Are there congratulations in order?" he asked, his heavy white brows raised.

Just as last night, she could not contain her smile and she nodded.

He chuckled softly as he wrapped the book carefully. "I'm happy for you both. There's nothing more beautiful than a new mother—why, I don't' know why I didn't notice before with the way you're glowing."

Ginny could only smile broader still as he handed her her purchases.

"There you are m'dear. Have a pleasant evening and send my regards to Mr. Potter."

"Thank you." she said sincerely as she turned to leave, her books nestled in the crook of her arm.

Outside, the bitter wind continued to swirl, but she didn't feel as cold as before. She was so happy, so excited at telling her family and learning what lay ahead of her that she didn't notice the cold's harsh chill, the bite of the wind against her cheeks, nor the dark figure sneaking from the shadowy eve to her side.

She'd barely opened her mouth in surprise when a gloved hand covered it and she was unceremoniously pulled into the nearby dark ally, her books falling onto the icy pavement.

She struggled and pushed against her attacker but could not get away. Nor could she scream, her attacker's hand tasting of bitter salt against her lips. She thrashed with all her might but her captor merely chuckled wickedly, making the hairs on the back of her neck and arms prickle to life. Her wide, terrified eyes scanned the empty street through the darkness of the narrow lane, desperate for help. It seemed as though a line was painted in the snow where the dark and savage alley floor met the sparkling snow at its mouth, lighted by winking lanterns and warm shops. She could hear the faint echo of a door tinkling somewhere around the corner and her effort to get away doubled. If she could only attract some attention….

She felt him clamp something like a bracelet onto her wrist and before she knew it, she felt the familiar tug of a Portkey just behind her navel, the street long gone.

Cindy struggled, barely managing to open her door with the two bags of groceries in her arms. Although her house was completely dark, she knew the way to her kitchen like the back of her hand, and steadily made her way to the wooden table to deposit her goods. She immediately started a roaring fire in the grate as she could feel an icy chill begin to overtake her, and then lit the candles with a wave of her wand.

When the light flooded the dark recesses of the room, her mouth dropped in surprise. The entire room was in shambles and it was a miracle that she hadn't tripped over the obstacles that had lined her path into the kitchen. Chairs had been overturned, papers littered the room from the emptied drawers, and all the knickknacks on her mantle lay shattered on the floor.

"What on earth..." she said, confused. Suddenly she was hit over the head and she knew no more.

Harry was in a hurry to get home. Although he'd thoroughly enjoyed his romp on his Firebolt, the winter-chilled air was almost too much for him. Even with a warming charm his fingers felt frozen and seemed permanently stuck to the handle of his broom. It had been fun, though, falling from great heights at break neck speed. But as much fun as it was, it had gotten increasingly darker by the minute and before he'd known it, he couldn't see the ground. Deciding that it was in his best interest to quit, he landed and was now making his way steadily home from the park down the street.

Ginny would have had kittens if she'd seen the stunts he was pulling – things he hadn't done in years. It was good for him, he thought, as it relieved his stress and anxiety and even Mrs. Weasley couldn't find a fault in that. Checking his watch, he was surprised to see how late it was – nearly six – and Ginny had gotten home around four. He'd completely lost track of time. Realizing she was probably pacing the kitchen in worry, waiting for him, he cut his stroll short, hastily pulled his wand from his pocket, and Apparated home.

Prepared to offer his sincere apologies for making her worry, he was completely surprised at what met him. It was dark and cold in the house, no sign that she'd even been home.

_Strange_, Harry thought as he lit the candles and started a fire. But strange or no, he couldn't help but feel relieved he had beat Ginny home. It was far past four and she was still out. _Probably shopping_, he decided as he put on some tea.

Making his way upstairs to change into dry clothes, he decided that he'd take Ginny out tonight to celebrate their new parenthood. He'd been inattentive all day, so distracted by thoughts of becoming a father, that he couldn't help the glazed look he was accused of having.

Earlier today when he'd gone to the Ministry for a few books and files, a very pregnant witch had waddled onto the lift and he'd found himself surreptitiously glancing her way every few moments. Edwin Morris, a fellow Auror, had been on the lift as well and was speaking very seriously about recent Dark activities but Harry could not make himself pay attention. He really had tried to listen, but he couldn't help but be fascinated by the woman to his left. He imagined that Ginny would soon look like her: a round, protruding belly poking up through billowing robes, the heavy material much longer in the back than the front. He found the sight oddly attractive.

Morris sent him a few strange looks, but didn't press the subject, for which Harry was grateful. Needless to say, by the time he'd left the Ministry, both Shacklebolt and Tonks had asked him if he was all right and if he needed any extra time off.

He couldn't wait until Ginny got home so they could tell the family together. Molly, above anyone else, would be very pleased as she'd been the one harping them about starting a family for over a year now.

Harry found his way into the kitchen again and poured himself some tea, glancing at his watch. It was half passed six now, and a shadow of worry began darkening his mind. He knew Ginny could take care of herself, she always had; and the fact that she'd promised to be careful gave him some comfort, but all the same, he'd feel much better if she were home.

Determined not to keep glancing at his watch, he made his way into the small library just off of the front entryway, tea in hand. That room alone had been the house's selling point for Ginny. She'd loved the large picture window, the dark walnut floors, and the stately fireplace; but above all, she'd cherished the little window seat that overlooked the front garden. He'd often come home to find her cuddled, fast asleep, in the window seat, a book nestled somewhere between her chest and her knees.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he passed her usual spot. There were books stacked neatly on the floor next to the padded bench, as well as a few lying open on the seat itself. Walking over, he picked up an open book, and glanced at the title. Poetry. Merlin, how he hated it; he didn't know how she could stand to read about fairies and rainbows and frolicking imps. In reality, he didn't think Ginny would like to read about those things either, but ever since primary school, he hadn't been able to shake his initial impression of verse. To him, _all_ poetry consisted of cutesy scenes and agonizing elusiveness.

He returned the book to where he'd found it and, with a flick of his wand, brightened the candles that were placed around the room. He set his steaming mug of tea down on the desk that was located in the corner, and sifted through a stack of bills and letters until he found what he was looking for: his latest subscription to _Quidditch!_ magazine. Apparently there was a new Comet prototype that promised to be even better than any of the Firebolt series. Ron swore by Comets, saying they were far more durable than the Firebolts because their handles were made of Spanish oak, instead of ash, which was softer. "After the diamond-hard finish wears off, you've got nothing better than a Cleansweep with too much acceleration," he would say, "and I'd hate to be going 150 miles an hour on something as flimsy as that."

Of course Harry knew where Ron's affinity to Comets stemmed from. The fact that his first broom had been a Comet and that he'd won his first ever Quidditch Cup on one, had everything to do with his stance, but all the same, it was a topic they'd beaten to death but refused to let die.

Harry thumbed through the magazine until he found what he was looking for and leaned keenly over the high-gloss centerfold of the new Cleansweep Three-Eighty. It really was a beautiful broomstick, and he'd have to work extra hard to find something he disliked about it to argue over with Ron.

As though his best friend had been reading his thoughts, the fire's dull flame sprang to life, and Ron's head appeared in the middle, a green glow befalling his features.

"Harry?" Ron called, looking around until his eyes rested on him. "Mate, did you see the new Comet?"

"I'm looking at it right now, though I haven't read the article yet."

"Its state of the art, Spanish oak, streamlined, and goes from zero to 160 in eight seconds," he breathed, his eyes alight with excitement. "Not even you can find fault with that."

"Hmm. I don't know," Harry said, moving down to sit in front of the fire, Ron's eyes following him. "My Firebolt from way back from third year had all that and more."

"No way! Yours only had an acceleration of 150 in ten seconds, this one far surpasses the Firebolt, mate."

"Yeah, but that was ten years ago, Ron. You'd think Cleansweep would have caught up long ago. I mean, they're just now getting a clue and correcting that slipstream problem."

"There is no slipstream problem."

"Not anymore there isn't…after they recalled all those from two years ago, at least."

"Oh don't start that again, Harry. Firebolt's had a lot worse problems in the past than slipstream. Hold on…." Ron pulled his head from the fire briefly and Harry could hear a mumbled conversation.

"Right," Ron said as he face reappeared. "Hermione wants to invite you and Ginny over for dinner tonight. You in?"

Harry shook his head a bit apologetically and gazed at his friend's fallen expression. "Ginny's not home yet and we sort of have plans already."

"Ginny's not home? How late does she work?"

"She's not working late, at least I don't think so," Harry said slowly, as if he were just remembering he was worried about her. "She was supposed to be off at four."

"She's probably just working late or out visiting a friend." Ron suggested.

"Yeah," Harry said, distracted and looking at his watch. "I've got to go. Tell Hermione hello for me."

"Alright. 'Night."

Harry's worry grew the more he thought about the situation. She'd said that she would be home at four, and if she'd had plans for after work, wouldn't she have told him? If she had to work late, he was sure she'd have let him know. She always had in the past, at least. Fighting back his uneasiness, he decided to Floo Cindy, her coworker, but her fire was closed. He proceeded to call the rest of her family, fear creeping in and taking hold of his insides with each negative response, the hour growing later and later. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley weren't home yet so he made a mental note to check back, but he was now terribly worried.

He wasn't completely panicking because he knew that sometimes Ginny would have to stay late at work or that perhaps she had to run some errands, but the sickening pang of concern crept into his heart no matter how he tried to ease his fears.

He couldn't Floo her office directly as she simply didn't have a fire. With all the many different potion ingredients lining the walls they had to be careful about Floo-flame and other such things that could cause deadly chemical reactions. He would try the receptionist but he loathed speaking to the rude, self-absorbed woman who inhabited the desk there. Every time he called on his wife, she would act completely put out that he had interrupted her long winded fire discussions, and always got his messages to her wrong. Besides, she had probably gone home by now.

_If he wanted to find her, he'd have to go there himself_, he resolved as he pulled his cloak from the hook by the door.

The coldness of the November night caused him to shiver uncontrollably as he made his way down the nearly empty sidewalks. _Apparently_, _people were too smart to be traveling in such horrid weather,_ he told himself as he passed the many shops that lit his path. He finally reached the visitors entrance to St. Mungo's, a sole purpose in mind, and made his way through the twisting hallways. He was soon standing in front of the very desk of the woman he hated, all hopes of her being gone for the day completely dashed. She smacked her gum loudly and surveyed him unpleasantly.

"Uh, we're closed, Mr. Potter," she said in discourteous tones, raising a heavily penciled eyebrow his way.

He smiled none-too-brightly, clenching clenching his teeth with the effort it took not to knock that smacking jaw loose off its hinges.

"I'm here to see my wife. Is she available?"

She shook her head and looked at him as though he were stupid. "She was off at four." she said, smacking her gum once more.

"Yes, I'm aware of that." Harry was finding it increasingly difficult to restrain himself, and he noted with slight satisfaction, that his clipped tones were having some effect on her. "But since I'm here, she's obviously not at home. Now, will you please check to see if she's here, or shall I?"

"No need to get snippy with me, Mr. Potter." she said as she rested her hands on her hips in apparent indignation. "I saw her leave myself a bit after four."

"What about Cindy? Has she left yet?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

"Not that it's any business of yours, but Cindy left shortly after Mrs. Potter. And now it's my turn, so if you'll excuse me...."

Harry could hear her huff her way out of the hall, muttering about rude people, but he wasn't really listening. He was concerned about Ginny. He checked his watch, and seeing that it was after seven, the panic rose within him once more. He glanced around him and finding himself alone, made his way to Ginny and Cindy's office.

It was dark inside and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It was very organized and clean but the smell of lingering potions burned in his nostrils. He blew out an exasperated sigh and left, shutting the door behind him. Everything seemed to be in order but he couldn't displace the feeling that something was amiss. But he made up his mind that she was probably at home now, after running an errand or two, wondering where he was. Why didn't he leave a note?

He made his way hurriedly out of the office and headed for home. Many of the shops were already closed for business and he checked his watch quickly to see how much time had gone by. He had to strain his eyes to read his watch as his path was dark due to the recently closed shops. It was a quarter after eight. Harry quickened his pace, sure that, by now, Ginny would be home.

But she was not there and there had been no sign that she had been.

The Weasleys, along with every other person Harry knew, had been contacted and were searching for her. He was beside himself with worry; terrible thoughts of what could have happened were running though his mind. Cindy had been one of the first people he tried to contact but her Floo was closed and there was no answer at her door.

The M.L.E.S. had been contacted sometime around ten, but since they could not dispatch a search party until a person had been missing for 24 hours, he had been out in the cold, searching the streets himself. Sadly, he'd found nothing.

Although it had felt like he was giving up on her, Molly, who had been out searching with the rest of the Weasley family, had forced him to return to The Burrow with threats of throwing hexes, and bringing him in unconscious if need be. _You've got to sleep, Harry. Look, you're nearly frozen solid. No, I won't take no for an answer._ The clock struck midnight just as they all entered the kitchen, drawing his attention.

Harry thought that he had handled the situation rather well up until then, but when he saw the clock, he lost the small amount of control he had. An anguished sob escaped him as he fell to his knees right in the middle of his in-law's kitchen, his beloved wife's clock-hand pointing to "Mortal Peril." He gripped his hair tightly, not believing what he was seeing. A desperate wail rose from his throat and tears overcame him as Ginny's family attempted to comfort him through their own cries of fright. Tears spilled freely down his cold cheeks, leaving burning trails behind them.

She was in danger and he had wasted so much time thinking she'd gone shopping. He should have known. He should have done more.

His heart was physically pained, feeling as though it was in a tight vice. He couldn't breathe. His world, his Ginny, was somewhere in pain, in desperate need, and he was powerless to help. And their child...he couldn't bare think it. He couldn't stand the fresh stab of grief that filled him.

He suddenly stood, tears clouding his eyes but he didn't care, so what if he couldn't see? Ginny was gone.

He screamed and overturned the scrubbed wooden table in an angry rage, those around him jumping away in surprise.

"What else?" he shouted. "What more can be taken from me?"

He kicked the leg of the overturned table before dissolving once more into despair.

How could he have let this happen? How could he go on without her? The answer was quite simple: he couldn't, nor would he want to.

A/N: Thanks need to go to my wonderful new beta, Michele, who is a brilliant writer. I bow humbly before your feet! She's made this chapter infinitely better and I will be forever grateful.

If you still don't know where the Blakeney's come from, I've given you two more hints in this chapter.

Also, I should mention that Edwin Morris isn't mine. The name belongs to the great poet Tennyson who described him as, "All-perfect, finish'd to the finger nail."


	3. Old Friends

3: Old Friends 

_A/N: Thanks to those who have reviewed. Special and sincere thanks go to Kelly and to Michele. Kelly, my pre-beta, is so incredibly busy, but she somehow found the time to help me out. And Michele, my fabulous beta, who is so supportive, has made this story much better. Thank you both, kindly—_

_We interrupt this Author's Note for a message from the Beta:_

_Hi gang – it's my fault this chapter is so long in coming. Please send all eggs, frozen seafood and sharp objects my way…it's not her fault at all…_

_Signed, Michele, the miserable beta…_

_We now return you to this Author's Note, already in progress…_

_—That being said, I need to add a warning: this chapter and various subsequent chapters contain some graphic material that may not be suitable for younger readers. Please read and review!_

__

It was cold, terribly cold and dark. She had no recollection of arriving to this place, wherever it was, but she did know that she had a pounding headache and her feet and hands felt frozen. She awoke slumped in a squalid corner of a small stone-hewn room, her hands fastened tightly behind her, her wrists raw and her shoulders aching. The ropes around her ankles bit into her skin as well, but she did her best to ignore the sting. A musty staleness hung in the air and on her skin, penetrating through her thick winter cloak and making her shiver.

She didn't know what time of day or night it was, as there were no windows, but she felt as though she had been there, in that position, for hours. Her neck muscles were so tender that even sitting perfectly still caused her great pain. She looked around her, trying to discern where she might be, but could find no telling features. For some reason this caused her even more alarm. Being held against her will was one thing, but having absolutely no bearings or idea of how to escape made her panic.

A dry sob caught in her parched throat. Her heart pounded wildly, causing the blood pumping through her head to throb uncomfortably. She remembered this feeling quite well, having been a prisoner once before, but it had never come about this surprisingly; at least she had started to suspect Tom Riddle before he had taken control of her completely. But this, this was very different. Who knew what was in store for her, or what her captor wanted? Was it because of Harry? Was she being held for some sort of ransom? Harry would gladly pay all that he had; she knew that he would do anything for her. But then again, that scheme didn't really make sense. Harry really wasn't all that wealthy, there were bound to be other, more well-suited financiers for such a cause.

Ginny swallowed and blinked through the darkness, trying to control her fear. As her eyes adjusted to the inky shadows, she was able to make out a wooden door with rusty hinges directly across from her. A chink of feeble light from under it cut sharply across the cold expanse she found herself in. Only a small sliver hope, the rest was chilling darkness.

Feverishly she pulled and maneuvered her hands and feet to try and free herself, keeping her eyes on that one spot of light; a totem of warmth and hope. Before long the scratch of the rope was sure to draw blood from her chafed skin, but she had to release herself. If not for freedom, then to offer her aching shoulders some comfort. She continued to twist her wrists behind her and she barely noticed the cutting pain for the numbness that had spread over her.

Ginny didn't think she had any enemies…but she knew Harry had. There were plenty of disgruntled wizards and witches who had once followed Voldemort who would be glad to hurt her husband. They would do anything to repay Harry for finishing the war and their Dark Lord—even if they couldn't hurt him physically, they would cripple him emotionally. And she was just the prop to ensure such a feat. But even as those thoughts crossed her mind, doubt surfaced.

If they hadn't taken her to hurt Harry, then there was only one other reason that seemed plausible. And suddenly she knew beyond any doubt; her captors did want her for a very specific purpose. It all seemed so blindingly obvious now, especially with the recent Death Eater attacks. Their mindless partners held back not by bars nor by Dementors, but by themselves. She knew how to restore their minds; she alone could replace what they had lost. There was Cindy, of course, but Ginny knew that she, herself, was the most obvious choice. It was she who had the reputation, for all of her many accomplishments were posted in the _Daily Prophet_ for everyone to read. Clearly she was the one with the talent.

She felt wretched. Why hadn't she thought of this before? Why hadn't she been more cautious? Harry had warned her that Dark activities were on the rise, yet she had shrugged off his warnings. She had even promised him she would be extra careful that very morning. But through all the excitement of her pregnancy, she hadn't really wanted to dampen her buoyed spirits with thoughts of Death Eaters. It was her own fault she was in this mess, and it would be her fault if her captors succeeded in their plan to get the Memory Draught.

Fear gripped her insides, her breath coming in short, frantic gasps. She wouldn't allow herself to give in; she, nor the wizarding populace, could afford such a blow. Lucious Malfoy, the Lestranges, Crabb, Nott, Avery, Dolohov, Goyle...the list went on and on. They were safely concealed within Azkaban and their own minds, but once freed, could wreak havoc on the peace they'd all worked to restore.

Suddenly the air was filled with a grating screech of rusty hinges protesting their use as the door was pushed open. Weak light flooded the room but it brought no comfort. A figure, covered by a heavy cloak, the hood pulled over his face with only his square jaw exposed, walked into the room slowly. His heavy boots pounded loudly on the damp floor and reverberated off the walls. Drawing very near, he crouched down beside her, and she did her best not to recoil in fear. She was afraid; oh yes, terribly afraid of him, but she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing. Bravely, she jutted her chin out and waited. He stayed silent, watching her, so very close that it unnerved her beyond all understanding, but still she remained as she was. He reached a slow and deliberate hand to her face; his fingers were warm and although she knew they meant her nothing but harm, the warmth they exuded made her want to lean into them.

He stroked her cheek softly, almost lovingly, as she glared defiantly at the dark cowl concealing his identity. His hands were a bit like Harry's wide and calloused, and even gentle; his knuckles were dry and they scuffed her soft cheek. But suddenly his tenderness was gone as he struck her harshly across the face, the tinny bite of blood filling her mouth. She cried out in surprise and pain, but the ache from her cheek was soon forgotten as he pulled her roughly to her feet by her hair, shoving her against the wall. He held her there by her throat, pressing his body to hers in terrible suggestion. It was then that she recognized him as her attacker, for his low-toned, sinful chuckle filled her ears, making her shrink away despite her earlier determination to do no such thing.

"Do you think Potter will want you after we've turned you into a whore?" he whispered gruffly in her ear as he ran his free hand over her body. Tears once again blurred her vision and spilt freely down her cheeks. _Harry, come and save me_, she thought desperately as he continued his torture.

"Please..." she choked out softly.

He pulled her from the wall only to shove her back into place, her head bouncing against the wall, shooting violent pain all the way to the backs of her eyes.

"Please what?" he hissed. "Are you begging for more?" He tore off his hood, bruising her lips with his. His raspy tongue, thick and dank, shoved its way into her mouth. The hand around her throat tightened as she squirmed away, and his other hand, latched painfully onto her breast.

She bit his lip, hard, and he pulled away with snarl, a little trickle of blood coming off his bottom lip. He wiped it off with the back of his hand and glanced at it briefly before turning his attention back to her. Ginny had expected him to hit her in retaliation, but she wasn't that lucky. Instead he threw her a lopsided smirk, his yellow pointed teeth bore in a feral sneer, and lunged at her again, ripping her cloak open so it hung limply behind her, only held off the cold ground by her tied wrists. His hands busied themselves in her long skirt as she struggled for breath.

Some time ago, back when she had been horribly violated by Tom, she had thought that being possessed was the worst thing that could ever have happened. She had felt contaminated and dirtied by the imposter, so completely defiled and raped of her identity, that she could not imagine anything more harrowing. She had worked very hard, for a very long time, to mend herself to the point of contentment. She had thought she had repaired herself enough; had thought those feelings of complete violation and self-loathing had finally been eradicated. She was wrong. They were merely buried deep within herself, and they were now resurfacing. Even as she withdrew into her own mind and detached herself from the situation, as she had learned to do so long ago when she was a young girl under Riddle's influence, she felt the hot pain of defilement spill within her, spreading to every corner or her body.

As he continued his cruelty, having torn through her blouse, the bare skin of her shoulder and left arm breaking out in goose pimples, she beseeched her God. She prayed that, no matter what happened, however horrible, the child she carried would not be harmed.

"Enough!" came a sudden drawling voice from the doorway. "You'll have your share when we're done. But for now, she needs to be left alone."

The light from the corridor wreathed the owner of this new voice in shadow, but she could tell, however, that his hood was down and that he wasn't wearing a mask.

The man holding her throat took a step away, letting her breathe freely again, and she slid the length of the wall to the floor. Her attacker's face was in full view, but it didn't do much good as she didn't recognize him. His dark eyes—black, and deep set— grated over her body. His high forehead and cheekbones dominated all other features, so much, that he seemed almost inhuman. A nasty grin spread across his face, baring his crooked and pointed teeth.

"I _will_ have you." he promised.

"Leave us." said the man at the door making his companion exit. He threw her one more sickening smile before he disappeared and Ginny let out the breath she was unwittingly holding. Although she knew the person before her was most likely just as cruel, she was grateful that he appeared in the doorway just then, and saved her from a worse fate.

He stood motionless for a moment, gazing down at her from across the room as she shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

"You know what we want." It wasn't a question but she wasn't so sure she knew the answer. Or rather, she didn't want to believe her captivity had anything to do with the Memory Draught. She said nothing, and he made no movement to command an answer from her. He stood there in silence, as though wanting to make her uncomfortable.

"I don't know what you want," Ginny finally said, pleased that her voice did not waiver.

"Yes you do," he said, "You know perfectly well why you're here."

Ginny said nothing.

"I never would have thought I'd see the day when a Weasley was worth anything. And I especially didn't think I'd ever need a _favor_ from one."

"Favor?" Ginny said bitterly.

"Yes, a favor. You see, I need something you have. Something only you can provide me with; and you're going to give it to me." His voice was quiet and certain. Deadly.

Ginny stared at the dark figure standing across from her, something in her mind telling her that she knew his voice.

Finally he set into motion, taking lazy strides toward the center of the small room. Ginny unconsciously pulled her knees to her chest as she watched him come to a stop a few feet from her. She could see his face now, she recognized his expensive taste and pointed chin. Draco Malfoy, now a man, stood before her with cold eyes and an even colder heart.

"You give us what we want and your time here will be virtually painless. If you, however, choose to be difficult, I promise that you'll wish you were dead," he whispered, fingering his wand. He paused to let his meaning sink in and then moved toward her, his wand outstretched. She automatically recoiled even though she wanted to appear unafraid, but her pervious experience with him, three years earlier, left her with a perfect knowledge of his cruelty.

She had administered some pain-relieving draughts to what had been left of a small Muggle family those three years ago. Malfoy had tortured them beyond all belief, leaving only a mangled mess of what should have been two children. Their parents had been spared, though not out of any form of mercy; they had been forced to watch the horrid display and had later gone mad. But that hadn't been the worst. He'd tortured Remus Lupin as well, had killed him with agonizing slowness. Harry had tried to exact his revenge, but in the end, Malfoy had pleaded innocence. Malfoy swore that he had been controlled by the Imperius curse, and had been set free for lack of evidence. It had hit Harry hard, knowing Malfoy had been responsible for the death of the last true Marauder, his only link to his parents' past and a true friend, as well. Though no one could have ever replaced Sirius, Harry had come to regard Remus as a father figure and had loved him deeply. Harry, still to this day, searched for a way to convict Malfoy of the crimes he committed. Ginny knew what Malfoy was capable of and did not doubt his warning in the least.

Yet, perhaps it was because she was a Weasley, or that she was just too damned stubborn to relent, she refused to give in easily. She held her head high as he brought his wand ever closer. But he didn't use it against her as she thought he would. Instead he removed the bindings from her ankles and she immediately felt a rush of warm blood flood to her toes. She wanted him to free her hands as well, but did not want to ask for anything from him… even if it meant losing a few fingers due to the lack of blood flow. Staring at him disdainfully, she straightened herself.

"You won't get away with this." she whispered, her throat painfully tight and dry.

He laughed and shook his head. "Don't try and be brave; it's really quite pathetic."

He pulled her forward so he could remove the bindings around her wrists and she had to hold in a groan when her arms were released and her shoulders relaxed. She flexed her wrists, ignoring the rawness of her skin, before pulling her cloak over her exposed upper body.

Draco stood and stared at her, carefully examining her features, but after a few moments he sneered, making his handsome face contort to one of revulsion.

"You could have been so much more, Weasley. You, above all others, in that…pathetic litter you call a family, had potential. Instead you chose to marry that idiot, Potter, and look where it's gotten you."

"Harry will come for me," Ginny said with absolute conviction.

"Not if he's dead."

Rage rose within her, her face contorting into an ugly scowl to match Malfoy's. "Don't even think it," she spat, her voice lowered and dangerous, "as if you had it in you, you weak, _pathetic_ excuse for a wizard! You're lucky Harry didn't kill you when he had the chance..."

Malfoy raised his wand as a warning, his face white and angry, but Ginny could not stop the tirade of fury. The insults rolled off her tongue with amazing ease as though she had been waiting to tell him just what she thought of him for years.

"…You're a foul, vulgar man who deserves what's coming to you. And make no mistake, you _will_ pay, Malfoy!" To make her point, she spat bitterly at his feet but he jumped away, his eyes set in anger.

"So you're choosing the painful way of things are you? How very...Gryffindor of you."

She barely had time to brace herself for what she knew was coming, but before she knew it, she was writhing on the floor in agony. Pain shot through her every pore and she could no longer hold in the scream that wanted to escape. Her throat tore and bled from its dryness, but she continued to scream under the curse he held over her. Her spine, feeling as though it would snap in two if he did not release her soon, was contorted to breaking point. Agony. There was nothing worse. It felt as though the pain were part of her very soul, bound with her body in a tight, unrelenting vice. But it _did_ relent, just as suddenly as it had started.

Collapsed, with no strength to raise her head, a traitorous whimper escaped her lips. It had been short, but it had still felt endless. She cradled her abdomen, hoping that all was not lost. She knew it was unlikely that her baby could survive the Cruciatus curse and she clutched her stomach, crying outright, not caring that she may appear weak. She knew one thing: she could not afford for it to happen again; she would have to cooperate.

"That's just a taste to help you make your choice. And if you ever speak to me like that again, you'll be very sorry indeed. Until tomorrow then." he said, giving her a slight and sarcastic bow before leaving her alone.

The door slammed shut with a resounding bang and all became still and silent save for her gasps for air between quiet sobs.

Hours passed. She was bleeding, cold and broken, lost and without hope. Sometime after the curse had been placed on her, she'd fallen into a fitful sleep filled with terrors. She had no idea what time it was or how long she had been gone, but the small sliver of hope that she had at the beginning was now running very thin. She didn't rightly know why, in such a state, she should be angry with Harry, but she was. She had pleaded for him to come to her in her mind; begged him to save her but he hadn't. Logically, she knew that her husband had no idea where she was or how to find her, but all the same, the frustration was there. _He was _Harry–bloody-Potter _after all, wasn't he? He had saved the entire world from a terrible fate, couldn't he save his wife?_ She pushed those thoughts from her mind. _No_, she told herself, _Harry will come._

In the mean time, she had to help herself. To save herself and to save her child, she would have to do Malfoy's bidding. She would make the Memory Restorative Draught to keep from being harmed, hopefully giving herself time to plan an escape or for her husband to come to her aid. Besides, they wouldn't know the difference if she made the Draught correctly or not; she was the potions master, wasn't she?

She held tightly onto the thought of being rescued; after all, she really hadn't been there all that long. She needed to give Harry time, she told herself. He had never before left her abandoned, why would he now?

She unconsciously rubbed her sore wrists as she gazed, unseeing, at the closed door. She'd already tried to open it, hoping she'd ruffled Malfoy so much earlier that he'd forgotten to lock it. No such luck. She'd even tried her hand at some wandless magic though she hadn't been very disappointed when it hadn't worked. Harry had never really gotten her to understand how to do it, though he had tried. A flicker of a smile crossed her face as she thought of him. He could do just about anything. She knew from a very small age that wandless magic was possible, but extremely rare. The only wandless spells worth doing were practiced by very powerful wizards and witches. She had informed her husband of that very fact, yet he had been baffled…_ "then how come I can do it, Gin?"_

Harry. He was so modest and good, yet so dangerous when it mattered. He had scared her witless once a few years back when she'd come upon him suddenly. It had been late, nearly ten o'clock at night and she had just gotten off work when she'd seen him. He had apparently just gotten home as well and was preparing to enter their house when she snuck up on him, eager to slip her arms around his waist. But she had been surprised when, instead of feeling him in her arms, she had found herself flat on her back on their porch. His wand had been pointed directly between her eyes and he had had a look on his face, so heated and… dangerous, that it had scared her. Of course when he'd realized who he'd forced to the ground, he turned bright red and sputtered apology after apology. She had never told him, but the bruises on her backside had prevented her from sitting properly for a week.

And then of course there was the Last Battle. She hadn't been there, for she had been busy at St. Mungo's, but Ginny could imagine perfectly what had happened. Hermione had told her everything she'd seen.

_We were separated from Harry and we couldn't find him. But then we didn't have to see to know what had happened… everything became very still once Dumbledore had fallen. Everything and everyone stopped and turned to see him collapse…. Harry stood there, with Dumbledore at his feet, as though not really seeing him, and then he changed somehow. He was fierce, Gin… wild…completely frightful. I didn't even recognize my own best friend anymore. Harry turned toward the Dark army and he…he became a right monster; cutting through Voldemort's minions as though they were made of papier-mâché… he was glowing with power, Gin. I wish you could have seen it. There was a brilliant bright light that surrounded him as he moved toward Voldemort on the hill. And then, I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself: a group of Death Eaters surrendered to him…right in front of Voldemort; they dropped their wands without so much as a fight. _

A crooked smile crossed her face then. How stupid could these people be to kidnap Harry Potter's wife? He'd defeated every foe that crossed his path and had already saved her from the most evil of wizard kind. They would have to know what was coming to them.

That or they were completely stupid.

Ginny was still cold and uncomfortable, but she found that with these thoughts, came a slowing of her quickened heart. She wrapped herself tighter in her cloak and closed her eyes…waiting. Time dragged on, and she had just felt the beginnings of sleep to cloud her mind, when Malfoy came for her.

BANG!

The door was thrown open quickly, making her jump.

"Your presence is requested in the western-most suite." Malfoy said with that ridiculous bow and his trademark sneer. He thought he was being very clever patronizing her in such a manner, but she didn't let it affect her, it merely solidified her theory that her captors were idiots. She could handle idiots.

"You know, for someone who fancies the finer things in life and prizes himself on the amount of gold his daddy left him, you sure are a horrible host."

He smirked at her. "And you, gold digger, should watch your mouth before I stick my boot in it. I don't want to hear anything out of you. Understand? Now, get up! I'm not going to drag your sorry arse anywhere... unless it were to your grave, of course."

"You're taking an awful risk, capturing me," she said with a note of indifference through her gravely throat. "What do you think will happen to you when Harry finds me?" she asked as he pulled her up to her feet and pushed her toward the exit.

"Fear not for my safety, Mrs. Potter," he said coolly, "when you should be worrying about your own. When Potter finds you, it will have been too late. The Draught will have been finished and you'll be far past needing rescuing. Then he'll get what's been coming to him for ages." He paused as though wistfully anticipating just how it all might come about. "It really is a shame you won't be alive to see him suffer. My favorite part will be when I tell him how I killed you, just like I had killed his pathetic werewolf friend." With that he shoved her out the door making her stumble to stay on her feet.

It seemed as though they were walking for miles. She tried to memorize the many twists and turns they were taking _- left, left again, right-_ but she was so tired and spent that she could not keep track of it all. Not only this, but she was having trouble picking up her feet. When they reached the stairs, and had climbed what seemed hundreds of steps, she nearly fell over from exhaustion. Her eyes had spots of black in front of them, and no matter how hard she concentrated on the stair ahead of her, it winked in and out of focus. She needed to sit and rest but Malfoy would not allow her to linger in one spot for very long. Her breath, which was coming out in quick rasps, was painful against her dry throat.

"God, you're slow!" Malfoy drawled.

Ginny didn't have the energy to glare at him, though she wanted to.

As they made their assent, she noticed a definite change in scenery. Whereas before, the walls were made up of grey, lifeless stone that emanated the coldness she felt throughout her body, now the finery she expected of Draco Malfoy shone through. _ Is that were I am, Malfoy Manor?_

The stone walls had faded away to creamy-white panels as they found the next landing. Prepared to take the next expanse of stair, she was surprised when Malfoy grunted for her to stop. He placed his palm on the opposite wall and pointed his wand at it with the other before whispering some type of spell. A door appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and he led her through.

The hallway that met her was beautiful. It stretched on with identical heavy wooden doors lining its way, heavy crystal chandeliers above. An oaken wainscot ran from the heavily polished floor to halfway up the walls. Occasionally, as Malfoy led her at wandpoint down the long corridor, she saw dated portraits of regal-looking witches and wizards, probably family, looking down at her disapprovingly. She watched the portraits carefully as she passed, hopeful that she might spot a person she recognized. Though, she told herself, this place isn't likely to have a portrait of Dumbledore around. All the doors to the rooms were closed but one at the end, where she assumed she was being taken.

When they reached the wide doorway, which Malfoy also shoved her through, making her vie for her balance once more, she was met with even more splendor. Elaborate tapestries depicting historical battle scenes and epic love stories were hung from the deep blue walls as well as several more portraits. They were quite beautiful and seemed so out of place. _How could anyone who hates so much own such beautiful things? _she thought as she took in her surroundings.

The room was large and spacious with a thick red and blue oriental-looking rug under her feet. The stately chairs in the room, which would normally look imposing to her, now appealed to her and seemed to be begging for her to sit and rest her weary body. It was dark, all of it. The flames from the iron brackets on the walls, shaped into curling serpents, shone weakly in the rich black leather of the sofa. The deep rug that sat upon the dark wooden floor was plush but gave no real comfort. It was elegant and spoke of extreme wealth and somewhere deep inside her, she imagined this must have been what Grimmauld Place had once looked like. There were so many similarities between Sirius's home and this one, minus the smell of decay and the dirtiness, that it almost comforted her.

Almost.

They stood there, motionless, in the center of the room with Draco's wand pointed to her heart while they waited. A large portrait hung over the massive fireplace, large enough to cover the wall up to the ceiling, but it was empty. A large, very ornate chair sat in the middle of the portrait, numerous candles blazing in its background, but there was no person to be found.

She was distracted by the sound of a swishing cloak and looked away from the empty portrait to find a rather good-looking wizard making his way toward them with a bored expression on his face. He was older than she was, probably around his mid-thirties, and was dressed immaculately. His wavy dark hair was pulled into a black ribbon at the nape of his neck showing off his broad brow and chiseled jaw.

"Morning, Draco. I assume we're on schedule?" he asked with a weak French accent, surveying him with casual indifference and not even recognizing that she was there.

"Yes, everything has gone perfectly so far, Rabastan. She hasn't caused any trouble and I don't think she will," he added as he nudged her with his wand.

"Good. Then I suggest we proceed." He walked past them both, straight to the opposite wall and pulled a torch bracket making the bookcase near him slide open with ease. She was pushed through the gaping hole in the wall into a rather drab looking antechamber with a cauldron, several tomes, and a rather impressive library of potions ingredients. It was infinitely more comfortable than the cold dungeon cell she had occupied earlier, but it didn't hold the same snobbish sophistication that the previous room had. It was small and rather cozy, much like her own office.

Rabastan lit a fire under the large cauldron and then turned to her, his dark, bored eyes, staring into her as though trying to frighten her. But she wasn't scared, or even nervous. In fact, she thought how odd it was that she should be so incredibly calm under such circumstances.

"You will make the Memory Restorative Draught for us." Rabastan said as he surveyed her. "And just in case you have forgotten the recipe, I have taken the liberty of bringing your work here," he said as he handed her a very familiar piece of parchment with her own handwriting scribbled in the margins.

"Where did you get this?" she asked, her stomach dropping to the floor, not wanting to believe what was most assuredly true. It was the recipe; this little slip of parchment, one that she had spent countless hours working with, could be the downfall of her world's work to rebuild itself.

"I paid your stupid little friend a visit last night. It's not hard to see who is the clever one, no?"

"What did you do to her?" she hissed, glaring at him. He held himself so proudly and dismissed Cindy with such ease that Ginny didn't really care if she was punished; she wanted to strike him, regardless of Draco's wand still pointed at her.

"It was easy." he said, waving a bored hand. "She struggled very little and didn't scream at all... which I thanked her for. You will be seeing her soon I presume, though probably not as you remembered her. She certainly doesn't remember you." He paused and watched Ginny as the meaning of his words sunk in. Ginny's knees felt suddenly weak; _she certainly doesn't remember you. Oh no._

"Now if you will do the honor...." he said motioning toward the cauldron. "Of course if I could do this myself, I would. But you and I both know that you are the only one capable of such a difficult potion."

She wasn't listening. Ginny's mind had blocked out his voice as she contemplated just what was happening. They had taken Cindy's memory. They were going to use Cindy against her as some sort of sick motivation for her to make the draught.

"You can be sure," Draco cut into her thoughts, "that we will be watching you and if you do not perform to the expected standard, that is, if you shirk you duty and make a false representation of the potion, we will kill your friend and then you'll really know what pain feels like. It would be in your best interest, not to mention that dotty co-worker of yours, to do it correctly the first time. Once the Draught is finished, we'll test your work on her... so don't get any ideas."

With that they turned on their heels and left, the door sliding solidly back into place with a dull thud.

It took a long moment for him to piece together just exactly where he was through his sleep-hazed eyes, but he soon understood. The blue walls covered in drawings, pictures, and posters, the stacks of books on the shelf, and the small assortment of childhood stuffed animals in the corner were all Ginny's. An uncomfortable lump appeared in his throat at the thought; just being around so much of her, even though it was comprised of her past, filled him with fresh grief. He stared around him, the silence pressing on his ears and he could no longer stand to be there. He had to get out. He could not stand to see such an innocent place become a sick torment for him. He swallowed quickly and stood, heading for the door.

His stomach was churning, though he didn't know exactly why. It could have been blamed on myriad of different things: the helplessness he felt, the feeling of utter abandonment, the fear that Ginny would never return to him, or the anger that was buried within him, pressurized and waiting to burst. It didn't really matter why he was feeling so ill, it just mattered that he find the loo before he lost it in one of Mrs. Weasley's planted pots along the hall.

He rushed into the toilet and waited for the bile to rise, but it would not come. He wished it would; he needed some type of release - anything to shed the pain he felt. But this too, was denied him and he settled for splashing cold water on his face.

"Goodness, you look horrible. Are you all right?" the mirror asked in concern.

Harry didn't answer and looked himself over in the mirror, briefly confirming its assessment. He did look horrible. Regardless of an uncharacteristically good sleep he had had, his eyes bore all the vestiges of illness. The deep purple surrounding his bloodshot eyes was an instant giveaway to his suffering. He looked as though he hadn't slept properly in a week, though he knew quite well that he hadn't had any dreams last night. Nor did he remember having trouble sleeping at all, not to mention he couldn't remember how he even got to bed in the first place. Suddenly he understood; it was quite plain that he'd been drugged.

First of all, if it had been up to him, he wouldn't have gotten any sleep at all. For he would still be out roaming the streets and second, even if he had tired to sleep, he was sure he would have had a very restless night full of terrors. But just as mothers (or in this case, mother-in-laws) know best, Harry assumed Molly must have slipped something into his tea last night and moved him to Ginny's old bedroom. He had to admit that he would have gone down kicking and screaming had he known, and anger bubbled inside him toward his family. _How dare they take it upon themselves to violate something so personal? _He half wished he had seen Ginny last night in his dreams, even if they would have been filled with horrible sights. He ached to find her; he missed her, and they had taken his chance to see her from him.

He pounded down the stairs, eager to confront Molly and inform her, along with the rest of the family, that they were not, under any circumstances, to drug him again. Ever. But upon reaching the bottom of the stairs and turning into the kitchen, he found it completely empty. There was a covered plate on the table with a yellow note sitting beside it. Harry recognized Molly's curly handwriting immediately and snatched it up, glaring at it as though it were Molly herself.

_Harry, dear, be sure to eat something today. _

_I've made your favorite: sausages! _

_Love,_

_Mum_

Her cheery attitude in the note made him growl and crumple the parchment into a wad. She was acting as though nothing had happened; like he was still twelve years old, coming for a stay with Ron. He stormed out of the kitchen and into the sitting room, searching for any sign of life, not really noticing how very quiet the house was. When he didn't see anyone there, he turned sharply toward the back door in hope of finding someone outside. But as he stormed, first outside, then back into the house and up the stairs, it dawned on him that he was alone. He let out a noise of frustration and anger. Everyone had gone and left him, they hadn't even bothered to wake him so he could resume his search! Thundering down the stairs once more, he summoned his cloak to him and dug though its pockets for the map he had been using the previous night. There were sections he'd crossed out, indicating the places he'd already searched, and a few circled spots he'd thought might be promising. There were only a few of these circled spots left, and he once again reined in his bubbling frustration at having slept through the night.

He'd lost even more hope of finding her as time went on, and he'd spent the night holed up in Ginny's old bedroom. As far as he was concerned, he may have cost his wife her life. Collapsing the map forcefully and stuffing it into his pocket, he pulled his wand to Apparate but stopped short. He had heard a distinct crack from the floor above him. The floorboards had cried with a sudden weight above his head, directly above him: Ginny's room. He didn't dare believe it was Ginny, he wouldn't allow himself that hope. It would only be dashed; and he would have been right, for just as he made his way to the stairwell, someone exited Ginny's old room and made for the bathroom down the hall. It was Arthur.

Harry had never really seen Arthur upset before, as he was such a calm fellow, but he could see in his father-in-law's eyes an uneasiness that made Harry's heart stop with worry. _Something must have happened._

"Harry!" Arthur said, a bit startled and eyeing him wearily. "You're up." Arthur must have felt the emotion rolling off of his son-in-law because he put his hands up in supplication and took a step back from him. "Now, don't be upset! We were just thinking of your health. You were so distraught last night and we all knew that you wouldn't have rested a wink if we hadn't done _some_thing." he said, searching Harry's face for any sign of understanding.

"Do you know how much time I've lost?" Harry said angrily. "Ginny could be anywhere, freezing cold… she could be dying, and I—I've been in bed!"

"We haven't lost any time, Harry. We've all been searching for her. The twins, Ron, and Bill have been up all night searching for her. Then first thing this morning, Ron and Hermione traced a likely path Ginny would have taken from work but haven't found any clues as of yet. Molly's now at the Ministry, trying to talk some sense into the M.L.E.S…."

Although Harry should have felt better that people hadn't stopped searching, he was still not pacified in any way. Arthur hazarded a step toward Harry, reaching his hand out to touch his son-in-law's arm. "Harry, we did what we thought was best. Ginny needs you rested and alert." Arthur's voice was soft yet firm.

"I should have been with them!" Harry said fervently.

"You were in no state—" Arthur continued quietly.

_"Ginny's my wife!"_ Harry bellowed, as though this simple fact would make Arthur understand.

"—you would have made yourself sick, Harry. I'm sorry you're upset over it; we were wrong to do it and won't even consider drugging you in the future. Just please… please listen to me for a moment."

Harry said nothing, but stared mutely at Arthur, not ready to let his anger leave him. It was easier to be angry, he realized, rather than hurt. If he filled the fissure inside himself with anger, he could almost drown out the misery he felt. He nodded ever so slightly and folded his arms over his chest.

"Molly sent word to Charlie last night just after... just after you fell asleep, and he said he'd be here as soon as he could, but he's one of the few on patrol this week so it'll be tough for him to get here. But at least he'll be here to help." He paused. "Harry, there's something you should know..." Once again Arthur's eyes dulled with the acute distress Harry had seen when he'd first spotted his father-in-law.

"What's happened?" Harry asked with forced calm, his fingernails biting uncomfortably into the palms of his hands. "I know something's happened; I can tell."

Harry held his breath. Had she been found sometime in the night, frozen and hurting? Was she under the care of Healers? _Oh, God,_ he silently pleaded, _please keep her safe._

"She hasn't been admitted, Harry." Arthur said in a would-be calming voice. "I went to her office." He paused making Harry want to grab his father-in-law by his cloak and shake him to get it out faster. "Her co-worker Cindy hadn't yet shown up to work so I went by her flat to see if she was OK. Harry, her house was in shambles as though someone were looking for something. Everything was torn apart and there was no sign of her. I think she's been abducted."

Something in Harry's brain shouted that this was significant, but he was almost too afraid to examine why. He had been dwelling with the painful thoughts that it had been his – Harry's – fault for Ginny's disappearance ever since he'd realized she had gone missing. Of course he hadn't wanted Ginny's kidnapping to be because he was famous Harry Potter, but it had been the only reason he could think of. But now, with Cindy gone missing as well, it didn't seem to be about him at all.

"The Draught?" Harry asked, forgetting that he was angry, his stomach suddenly very heavy.

Arthur nodded, not taking his eyes from Harry. "I think so."

"How?" Harry asked, running a hand through his hair. "No one was supposed to know about it."

"You're not cleared to know about the Draught, yet you do."

Harry sat down on the top step, suddenly very weak. Arthur followed him, sitting at his side. "This means that whoever has taken Ginny and Cindy is sympathetic to the Death Eater cause," Arthur said. Harry wondered if Arthur felt as sick as he did. "They'll be using them to make the Draught."

"Who had clearance for the information, besides you?" Harry demanded, the sick feeling he had felt earlier that morning back with full force.

Arthur pursed his lips. "The Minister, of course, and a handful of others. I was the only one in the Order that knew, however. There's Robert King, Daniel Jones, Paul Lado, and Mary Lou Foulkes… all within the Covert Operations Experimental Magic Department.

"Any cleared Voldemort supporters?"

Arthur frowned and shook his head. "I'm afraid it won't be that easy."

"Who then? Who leaked the information about the Draught?"

"I don't know, but it won't be easy to find out. It could have been anyone, really. Just because they're the ones cleared to know about the Draught, doesn't mean they're behind Ginny's kidnapping. And I can't rightly go in and start questioning them all. I only know their names because of my position as the Minister's Undersecretary."

"Right." Harry said in understanding. Any of those people Arthur had mentioned could have been spied on. They could have mentioned something about it in passing to someone they had trusted… just as Arthur had informed Harry so many months ago. "So what do we do?"

"Give me some time, Harry." He put his hand up to quell Harry's response. "I know Ginny might not have that luxury, but we have to do this carefully." Harry nodded and Arthur continued, "I'll have to do some poking around."

It was no wonder the workers at the Ministry were scrambling to get out of Harry's way with the way he was raging down the halls. He was so angry and felt so powerless to do anything to help his wife that the very air around him crackled with the unspent energy that emanated from him. He had never before been so utterly enraged than he was at that moment. The very essence of power glowed around him yet he felt completely useless at the same moment.

He had arrived at the Ministry shortly after he and Arthur had discussed the possible reason Ginny had been taken to file a missing persons report with the M.L.E.S. Molly apparently had tried to come earlier, but Harry, as Ginny's husband and next of kin, had to be the one to supply her information. That, and Harry had been the last of the family to see her.

The plump wizard Harry had been speaking to had been sitting behind a cluttered and very dirty desk, and hadn't been helpful in the least. He'd shown Harry several three-ringed booklets of unsolved missing persons' cases, their pictures carefully attached to the upper right-hand corner of each page, with instructions to read them over. Harry had been instructed to get a good idea of what kind of information he should include in Ginny's report, but the fact that none of the people staring back at him had been found, didn't do much for his mood.

To make matters worse, the officer had been completely star-struck by Harry's presence. He'd kept stopping mid-sentence to mumble _I can't believe it's really you! _This, of course, did nothing to improve Harry's mood and he had found himself leaving the wizard's office rather hurriedly before he did something he knew he'd regret. Harry had been pleased that before he'd left the office, he'd managed give the officer instructions to send someone out to the Burrow later to file a report.

Once he left, however, he had to hold himself back from going to Auror Headquarters. He knew that if the reason for his wife's disappearance were known, if they knew that the Azkaban-contained Death Eaters were on the verge of being set free, the Aurors would be put on the case. This kind of thing was their job, something they were trained to deal with properly. This knowledge, coupled with Harry's lack of confidence in the M.L.E.S.'s abilities, spurred him on to go to Shacklebolt, his supervisor. But in the end, Harry had seen reason. Even he wasn't cleared to know about the Draught, and neither would his supervisor. Not only this, but Ginny was his wife, the victim, and Harry would never be permitted to be involved in the case. Shacklebolt's first act would be to remove Harry from duty, and that was something he was unwilling to have happen. He wanted to be the one to find Ginny's captors. So much, in fact, that he suddenly understood why the law stated that a family member or loved one of a victim could not be involved in the active investigation: because when he found whoever had taken Ginny, they were going to wish they were dead.

He made his way steadily out of the building, not really knowing where he was going, but just simply moving seemed to take some of the edge off. He soon found himself in the town square, though he didn't remember how he had arrived, and sat at the still fountain's edge. The water in the bottom had long since been frozen, no longer being pumped up and out of the stone figure that stood in its center. There he sat, cursing the day and the useless M.L.E.S.

He watched as witches and wizards hurried past in the light flurries of snow, his heart aching. A young couple strolled by lazily, somehow immune to the cold that bit into him so painfully. Their joined hands, covered with warm mittens and gloves, swung sweetly between them. The scene reminded him of his and Ginny's first Christmas as a married couple. They'd gone out together to shop for Ron's gift, though he now couldn't remember what they'd bought for him. He did remember, however, that once they had arrived to the square, Ginny's hat had flown off her head, carried by a gust of wind. Her vibrant hair, so bright against the surrounding grey, had flown in every direction. The wind had been so fierce that she hadn't been able to see where she was going, her hair restricting her view. Harry had Summoned her hat to him, but had wished she'd kept it off. He'd quite liked the wildness of her hair, and the little sighs of frustration that had escaped her throat.

"Mr. Potter!" a jovial call sounded to his right, and turning, he saw an elderly Mr. Foulkes, bundled up against the cold, making his way steadily toward him.

" 'lo," Harry said, sending a brief nod his way once he arrived at his side, not wanting to talk to him in the least. It wasn't as though he disliked the old man, it was just that he was always so cheerful and Harry didn't know if he could handle that, when he himself felt as though happiness would never come to him again.

"I'm glad I spotted you," Mr. Foulkes said, taking a seat next to him.

Harry glanced in his direction, wondering if he ignored him, if he'd go away.

"Mr. Potter," the old man began. "Did your wife get home all right yesterday?"

Harry's head snapped up so quickly that pain shot through his neck. "What?" he asked loudly.

Mr. Foulkes was slightly shocked at Harry's sudden movement, but he soon turned pensive as he pulled three objects from a bag he had been holding. They were books, Harry noted, that were loosely wrapped in brown, wrinkled paper.

"I found these on my way to work early this morning," he said, his white, bushy brows furrowed as he pulled the brown paper away. The edges of the books were warped from water damage and they looked rather grungy. Harry was about to open his mouth to question what these books had to do with his wife, when Mr. Foulkes turned them over, exposing the titles. The first book, a text on magical fungi, seemed like something Ginny would need or be interested in, but the second book, only confirmed his suspicions. A Witch's Pregnancy by Maria Foster lay before him, and suddenly he understood.

"Mrs. Potter came by my shop yesterday afternoon—'round five o'clock— and bought these books. It's lucky I spotted them this morning… they were covered with snow and I nearly tripped over them. Could you give them to her?"

It seemed that all the breath had left Harry's lungs, and it took him several seconds to find his voice. "Ginny came to your shop yesterday?" he asked, his heart in his throat. The news that someone had indeed seen Ginny was good, but seeing her abandoned books only confirmed what a large part of him hadn't wanted to believe. Harry swallowed and took the books from the old man.

"Yes, she did, though I can't for the life of me understand why she left her books in the snow." Mr. Foulkes looked greatly concerned, even at his own words, as he pulled a slightly yellowed handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his nose. "When I saw them, lying there," he continued, "I got worried. Who leaves books in the snow?" He placed his kerchief back into his pocket and finally turned his gaze to Harry, who was looking at him with keen interest. This was like an answer to his prayers; someone, finally, could provide him with some useful information.

"After Ginny left, did you hear a scuffle or anything outside?" Harry asked quickly.

Mr. Foulkes pursed his wrinkled, dry lips as he remembered. "No. Can't say that I heard a single thing," he said carefully. "But mind I don't have the hearing I used to."

"What did she say when you saw her? Was she acting differently… in any way?"

The elderly man paused for a moment, gazing intently at Harry. "You alright, m'boy? You look rather pale."

Harry waved a dismissive hand, "I'm fine." he said quickly. "Yesterday, when Ginny was in your shop, did anything seem out of sorts?" he tried again.

"She seemed fine to me. Not acting any differently, except if you're counting how happy she was. Mind, she's always cheerful when I see her, but she was much more so then."

Harry nodded. If she had been happy, she probably hadn't been aware that she had been watched or followed.

"Mr. Potter, what is all this about? Is your wife all right?"

Harry ignored the question, too eager to get answers to give them. "Did she say anything to you… say anything about where she was going after she finished at your shop?"

The old man shook his head, a worried frown on his face. "No, didn't say where she was headed. We discussed her books," he said as he motioned with his hand to the pile of tomes in Harry's lap. "Lad, why all the questions?"

"Something terrible has happened," Harry said, feeling sick. Mr. Foulkes, while being very helpful, hadn't given Harry anything substantial. The shining moment of hope he'd felt at the mention of his wife's name was now gone, replaced by more worry and fear. He'd just have to delve deeper.

"What's happened, Lad?" he asked in soft tones.

"Ginny, she's gone missing. I… I can't find her." The simple admission brought a painful lump to Harry's throat, and he had to look away from the old man's silvery-blue eyes.

Mr. Foulkes' weathered face twisted into sadness, his mouth dropping open slightly as he let out a shaky breath. "Oh. I'm… I'm so sorry, Mr. Potter. Very sorry." He placed one gnarled hand on Harry's knee, though it did nothing to console him.

"You said she'd seemed happy." Harry said gruffly, finally looking up from the snow-packed ground. "Did she say why?" Harry hoped that perhaps her happiness was due to meeting someone, an old friend, out on the street. If she had mentioned it to Mr. Foulkes, then he'd have someone else he could question.

Mr. Foulkes nodded. "We discussed her…delicate state."

Harry paused. _Delicate state?_ Then comprehension dawned. "You know she's pregnant?" Harry felt his heart twinge painfully. This reminder that Harry could lose twice as much, a child and a wife, made his grief suddenly much more acute.

"Aye." he nodded, still looking at Harry. "I guessed when she purchased those books on motherhood. She was in a right state, glowing with happiness." He paused, looking directly into Harry's sad eyes. "When did this all come about?"

Harry shook his head, feeling lost. "I haven't seen her since yesterday morning. You're the first person that I've spoken to that has seen her after she got off work."

Mr. Foulkes stared at Harry, his kind hand still rested on his knee. "I'm sorry, I wish I could be of more help…. What do you think happened to her?"

Harry paused and swallowed, not wanting to say it out loud. For some reason, speaking with the kind, old gentleman made Harry feel even more helpless. Like he was a child, telling an adult his problems in hopes they would make it all better. Harry's breath became very shallow as he considered what might have happened to his wife. He pictured her leaving Mr. Foulkes' business, hurrying through the cold to get home. Had she been oblivious to the situation or had she cottoned on? Had she been scared and frantic for help? Had she tried to contact him somehow, but he'd been—it hurt his heart physically to think it—flying in the park? How could he have been doing something so unimportant, so…irresponsible when she could have been desperate for his help? Had they hurt her? He envisioned a tall darkly-robed figure striking her cold-flushed cheek and the ache inside his chest intensified to a barbed sting. It hurt to think it. He didn't want to consider anything happening to her that caused her any pain, but he knew…he sensed that she was being sorely mistreated. A strike to the cheek was probably mild compared to how she was being treated.

"Mr. Potter?" the old man asked, concerned. "Are you all right?"

Harry bit his bottom lip, hard, and closed his eyes. The crushing pain in his heart, coupled with the overwhelming sense of urgency he felt, was blistering inside of him. "No." Harry said, not even aware that he'd said it out loud.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Foulkes said again. "I…you don't think that she's somehow just been detained or…." He trailed off, not sounding very convinced of his own words.

Harry knew it was much more than a simple problem of being detained. "It has to do with her work," Harry found himself saying, unaware of what he was tumbling out of his mouth. He just knew that he felt a sudden urge to tell the man sitting by his side everything, to explain the urgency. "She was making this Draught. It's really important and difficult and…Ginny's the only one who can do it." He paused and took a deep breath. "The remaining, uncaptured Death Eaters want it; they need it to break their friends from Azkaban."

Mr. Foulkes stared at Harry, not saying anything.

"You see?" Harry said, forcing himself to breathe normally. "I'm afraid it's rather serious."

Mr. Foulkes' weathered hand came to rest on Harry's shoulder.

"Look," Harry said, "I appreciate all your help. Really."

"Of course," Mr. Foulkes said after a pause, blinking as though he'd been interrupted from his train of thought. "If there's anything I can do, please let me know."

Harry nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Foulkes…. Actually," he said, an idea popping into his head. "Do you think I could have a look around your shop?"

"Of course"

"When did you last see Mrs. Potter?" the M.L.E.S. officer asked Harry.

He sighed. "I've already told you. It was yesterday morning around eight thirty... just before she left for work."

The M.L.E.S. had finally sent an officer to the Burrow for further questioning, and had been pelting Harry with countless questions for the past hour; questions that seemed completely useless.

"And where is Mrs. Potter employed?"

"St. Mungo's."

"Mmm hmm. Now, what was she wearing when you last saw her?"

Harry tried to think back. "I don't know… a black skirt and a red blouse."

"Describe them for me, please."

"Er… her skirt was long," Harry said, incensed. He didn't understand what her wardrobe had to do with anything.

Was her blouse long sleeved? What about her hair? Was she wearing a cloak or a scarf?"

"Look!" he said, fed up with the officer's questions. "I can tell you everything I know about her, but I doubt it will help you find her."

"Mr. Potter, these questions are important for her file…"

"You mean the file that'll get placed in a ring binder with all the countless others?" Harry asked angrily.

"Maybe you should take a break, Harry," came Hermione's soft voice as she entered the Burrow's kitchen. "You need to eat something or you'll have no strength left."

The officer nodded, closed her notebook, and left the room at Hermione's quiet suggestion. But Harry didn't want to eat. He didn't feel like he could bring himself to do something as normal as chewing or swallowing when he was sure Ginny was being mistreated.

He shook his head. "I don't want to eat, Hermione."

"I know…me neither," she sighed as she took a seat across from him.

Harry didn't want to meet her eyes. He didn't want to see the pity he was sure was there. Instead, he focused his attention on his dirty glasses that he'd taken off. He was so drained of energy and his eyes were aching. He wiped the lenses with the tail of his wrinkled shirt. He felt so misplaced… an emotion he hadn't ever felt so strongly before. He didn't feel comfortable at home or at the Burrow; alone or with friends.

"Harry…" Hermione said, trying to get his attention. He didn't want to look at her because if he did, he knew that the lump that was quickly forming in his throat would somehow swell until he could no longer swallow it.

"Harry, look at me."

Harry slid his glasses onto his nose and stared hard at a dark knot in the wooden table.

"What am I supposed to do, Hermione?" Harry said quietly. He was desperate for answers and Hermione, one of the smartest witches he knew, would certainly be able offer some answers.

She didn't answer him, but Harry felt her small hand slide into his own and give it a squeeze. The lump in his throat was getting bigger, he noticed, and he opened his mouth to speak. Perhaps if he spoke, it would go away. "Did you know we were going to have a baby?" he asked in a hollow undertone. He was afraid if he spoke any louder, his voice would quaver.

Harry saw Hermione shake her head in his peripheral vision. He felt that he had to keep him mouth moving to keep from breaking down. He wouldn't do that. Not again. "I was so happy when she told me," he continued. "It's what we've both wanted for quite some time. I can't explain what it felt like when she told me; my entire outlook on life changed in only a matter of seconds. I felt so content and..." he paused, looking for the right words, staring off into the distance.

"Like your life had a greater purpose?"

He nodded. "But now I wish she wasn't... and it makes me feel like such a monster!" He finally met her eyes, and he could see unshed tears resting on her lashes. "It's so much harder to know that I could lose twice as much."

Hermione found his hand again and, giving it a squeeze, threw him a watery smile. "You'll make a wonderful dad, Harry. And I know that they'll be safe; Ginny's smart and can take care of herself. She's done it before and she'll do it again."

Harry nodded silently. "Yes," he said gruffly, "she'll surely put up a good fight. But no one can know she's pregnant," he said gravely. "Can you imagine what they'd do to her if they knew she was carrying my child?"

Hermione didn't respond, but Harry could see her lips tighten into a thin, white line.

A tapping at the window distracted them both and Hermione let go of his hand to open the frost-covered glass. A grey barn owl swooped in and dropped the letter that was in its scaly claws in front of Harry and swooped out of sight once again.

He quickly unrolled the parchment, hoping it was a message from his dear wife, but found it was from Auror Division Headquarters.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We have received news that you have been informed of and have disclosed information regarding a high-security project involving the prisoners now contained in Azkaban Mental Facility. This information is confidential and meant for certain personnel only. Once disclosed, the offender(s) will face prosecution and possible apprehension. At approximately twelve twenty-seven PM on this day, 22 November 2003, one Harry J. Potter disclosed top-security information to Mr. Glen Foulkes, regarding case number 42779: Memory Restorative Draught. A hearing is scheduled for 25 November, 2003 at eight o'clock AM to determine the Ministry's action against said offender in Level two, room three. Thank you for your cooperation._

_Sincerely,_

_Merle K. Orgill_

_Wizengamot Administration Services_

_Ministry of Magic_

"What's going on, Harry?" Hermione asked as she read the letter upside down from the other side of the table. "What does all this mean?"

Harry gritted his teeth. Truth be told, he wasn't entirely certain he knew what was going on, but whatever it was, it didn't look good.

"Harry— who's Glen Foulkes and what's this about a Draught?"

"Where's Arthur?" Harry asked, ignoring Hermione's questions.

She huffed noisily. "Harry…"

But Harry was already getting up from the table, glancing at the Weasley clock. Ginny's hand was still pointing to "Mortal Peril," while Arthur's clock-hand was pointing to "Work," even though it was far past working hours.

"I've got to go, Hermione," Harry said, grabbing his cloak and the Ministry letter. The last thing Harry saw was Hermione's confused and slightly angry face melt from his view before he arrived at the Ministry.

A/N: In Michele's defense, she's been very busy with other business, something which I'm sure you're all very pleased with. And it doesn't help when I give her thirty pages of nonsense to wade through (I promise it won't happen again!), or when I repeatedly send her the wrong files. Thank you, Michele for your continued patience.

_Beta Note: Eh…fuggedaboutit! ; )_

_Please Review! _


	4. Mind Games

CHAPTER FOUR: Mind Games

Thanks to the following (sorry if I left anyone out!):

**Lily Dwarf**- I'm writing as fast as I can! Your words of encouragement do wonders, however, so keep them coming please. I never really knew how motivating fans were....

**TrixieFirecracker**- yeah, about updates...I'm seriously very busy and I apologize for the delay in earlier chapters. I have good excuses, though. I was busy writing my masters thesis and taking comps as well as preparing for my oral defense. That's all over now (thankfully!) so I should be able to post much more readily. Thanks for the review. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

**Lovablechick213**- My most loyal reviewer. Thanks so much for showing an interest. Chapter 5 is in the works! And while I can't rightly go and give away the ending, you should know that I believe in happy endings.

**Captain-alex-obvious**: Thank you! Again, I can't say what happens or if Ginny keeps the baby, or what...Although I like happy endings, I tend to put my characters through an awful lot before restitution comes. Sorry about all that, but I love angst. Thanks for the review.

A/N: Thank you to those who have reviewed. Your encouragement and words of kindness have done wonders. Thanks to Michele, as usual, for her excellent job. Without her...well, let's just say that she's the best thing that ever happened to this story. Love you, Chele!

The Atrium of the Ministry swam into view and Harry immediately swept into motion, ignoring the slight swoop of his stomach that always accompanied Apparation. Being far past normal business hours, Harry was slightly surprised to see the handful of people that were surrounding the Floo fires, stepping one by one into the green flames to go home. He glanced at his watch as he turned the corner leading to the lifts, his mind working furiously over what had just happened. He pounded the lift button and opened his fist, which held the crumpled Ministry letter. He glared at the words; on top of everything that had happened to him, he now had to endure a hearing, something that would only take more of his precious time. He didn't know exactly what had gone wrong today; he couldn't even remember what he'd said to Mr. Foulkes and he was completely perplexed at how the Ministry came to know of their discussion. Perhaps Arthur would have some insight....

The lift doors opened smoothly and the usual ethereal voice said, "Atrium," before he re-crumpled the Ministry letter and prepared to step into the lift.

"Harry!"

He whirled around to find Arthur stepping off of the adjacent lift, looking flustered. "Arthur, I was just coming to see you," said Harry, lowering his voice as a witch exited the same lift and sauntered past them toward the fires. "I'm afraid I have some bad news."

Arthur nodded solemnly, "If it's about your hearing, I already know. I was just coming home to speak with you." He grabbed Harry's elbow and steered him away from the lifts, which were jangling into motion once more, to a small conference room down the hall. As they walked, Harry felt an overwhelming sense of dread – his father-in-law had never treated him like this before.

Arthur motioned for Harry to step inside and followed immediately, shutting the door with a snap and raising his wand to cast a quick silencing charm. When he turned, Harry froze. The look in Arthur's eyes was icy cold with seriousness.

"Do you realize the trouble you've put yourself, not to mention me, or Ginny in?" Arthur asked sternly. Harry bit his tongue; he wasn't sure if Arthur wanted him to answer that or not. He felt like he was suddenly a child again, being scolded. "What could have compelled you to tell Glen Foulkes about the Draught? Harry, you know better than this!" he said, taking a step toward him, his eyes burning into Harry's. Harry felt incredibly ashamed. He did know better, as an Auror and a trusted friend. He had been so worried about how this new development stole more precious time from finding Ginny that he hadn't taken Arthur into consideration.

Arthur had come to him months before with news of Ginny's new task, at considerable risk to himself. Harry had noticed an upswing in his wife's work hours, but when he'd asked, she'd explained that she wasn't at liberty to say. He'd understood this: as an Auror, he himself wasn't permitted to disclose a large amount of information concerning his job, and he hadn't pried or asked questions. But later on, Arthur had approached Harry with a warning. _"Ginny's work is dangerous,"_ he'd said. _"She must be protected against those who will use her for her talents."_ Harry had been confused, but soon understood as Arthur revealed the safely guarded secret of the Draught. Harry had vowed to keep watch on Ginny and not to tell a living soul –save for his wife- what he knew. If Harry did tell, it would mean trouble for those he loved, something that Harry never dreamed of bringing about.

And he'd done just that.

"I'm sorry," Harry said lamely, feeling utterly apologetic. "I was looking for clues to find Ginny and I ran into someone who had seen her."

"So I've heard," Arthur said darkly, starting to pace. "I've just been told by Mary Lou Foulkes that her father-in-law contacted her this afternoon asking about the Azkaban prisoners. Mr. Foulkes claims that you told him that Ginny was working on a Draught that was somehow linked to the prisoners contained there." He stopped in his tracks and glanced at Harry. "Is this all true?"

Harry's mind reeled backwards; he'd heard the name Mary Lou Foulkes before, he was sure of it. "Mary Lou...why does that name sound familiar to me?"

Arthur let out a deep breath and tugged at his tie, loosening it. "She's a member of the Covert Operations Experimental Magic Department...one of the five people cleared to know about the Draught. She's Mr. Foulkes' daughter-in-law."

Harry remembered the discussion he'd had with Arthur on the stairs that very morning, but hadn't thought twice about it since. There were only a handful of people cleared to know about the Draught and Arthur only knew because of his position as the Minister's Undersecretary. Harry suddenly felt like he needed to sit. How could he have been so stupid? He'd let his guard down for a moment –only a moment- and look what had happened. He'd caused a whole mess of problems not only for himself, but for his family as well. The anger he'd felt when he had first received the Ministry's letter announcing his hearing had evaporated, leaving a well of remorse in the pit of his stomach. Harry felt like he needed to explain, like he needed to defend what had happened. "I went to the M.L.E.S. and they couldn't help me," he began, his voice hoarse. "I was upset..." He remembered that he had struggled to keep his emotions in check, had felt like he needed someone to confide in; and when Mr. Foulkes had confessed that he'd seen Ginny the previous night, that he knew that Ginny was pregnant, that he'd said she was happy –a picture of a smiling Ginny popped into his mind then, her eyes were twinkling and her cheeks were flushed. He couldn't explain; there weren't words to describe the intense sadness that he was feeling; emotions that had caused him to break a promise. He met Arthur's eyes, not knowing what to say. "I'm sorry, Arthur," Harry said, feeling miserable. He absently wiped his moist palms on his trousers and swallowed. "Mr. Foulkes approached me with news that he'd seen Ginny last night. Apparently, Ginny had gone to his bookshop after work and had bought a few books, but when he came to work this morning, he found her books abandoned in the snow...." Harry paused, remembering the ruined books that his wife had held not so many hours ago, his heart tugging painfully.

"Harry," Arthur said, his tone noticeably softer, "I can't get you out of this. You'll have to attend the hearing." Harry nodded and ran his hands over his face a few times causing his glasses fall back onto his nose askance. "But I must ask that you do not mention my name as a reference to the Draught. I've looked into it and I think that they'll be fairly lenient if you play the spouse card."

"What-"

"If you say that Ginny told you about the Draught, because you're her husband, they could consider it spousal privilege. As her husband, you are warranted to know about her personal affairs...if she had a reason, a good one, to inform you about it."

"Right," said Harry, nodding. He would do whatever he could to make it right. Arthur had trusted him and he had let him down. "I won't mention you."

"When is the hearing?"

Harry pulled the wadded paper apart and glanced at the dates. "Three days," he said, handing it to Arthur as though he needed to prove it. "Who do you think will be on the board?" Harry knew now that his experience with the law just before his fifth year at Hogwarts had been completely unorthodox. A normal hearing was much simpler: a small investigative body would ask him a few questions and then he would give testimony. He would, however, have to think of a good reason for Ginny to have revealed the nature of the Draught to him. _But that won't be too difficult_, he told himself.

"I'm not sure. It could be any number from the Wizengamot: Madam Bones, Stewart Cook, Doug Clifford...." Arthur said, waving his hand as he thought. "But you'll have to be careful. You'll be swearing an oath that what you'll be saying is the truth, and there are ways of telling if a person is lying. This means that your defense must be solid and believable.

Harry nodded his understanding. Truth Potions, various charms, and those proficient at Leglimency could be used if the person under oath were thought to be lying. These methods weren't practiced all that much however, as they could be circumvented by immunities to Truth Potions and Occlumency.

"Can you think of a good excuse for Ginny telling you about the Draught?"

"Yes," he said, swallowing. At the present moment, he had no idea what he would say, but he did not want Arthur to be any more disappointed in him. "I'm sorry, Arthur," he said once more, really meaning it.

Arthur gave Harry a sad smile. "I know, Harry. I'm sorry I spoke so harshly before. I suppose I was just shocked. Mary Lou came to my office this evening and asked if I knew anything about it, but of course it was news to me." He paused and Harry noticed he looked even wearier than that morning on the stairs. He stared off in the distance for a moment then met Harry's eyes. "It's very important that we do not speak of this in view of other Ministry officials. In fact," he said, readjusting the cloak over his arm, "We should probably get going." He fished in his robe pockets for some gloves then draped his heavy winter cloak over his shoulders. He looked up and met Harry's eyes once more. "It's all going to work out, Harry."

Harry nodded, not wanting Arthur to be so kind to him. Arthur took a few short steps toward him and placed a sympathetic hand on Harry's shoulder. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but Harry cut him off. "Thank you. Really...you've been...if it weren't for you I reckon I'd have fallen to pieces by now."

"Harry, we'll find her. We will," he said seriously, giving Harry's shoulder a squeeze before letting his hand fall away. He paused. "Are you coming to the Burrow for the night, then?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I've got some things to take care of at home."

Arthur nodded, giving him one last sad smile and left, the door closing once more with a snap. Harry sat there in the quiet for several moments, dreading going home to an empty house, but not wanting to go to the Burrow either. Squeezing the crumpled parchment in his hand, he pushed himself off of the table he was leaning against, and made his way into the Atrium. He tried to focus his mind on what he'd be saying at the hearing in three days time as he walked, but every thought was dominated with a feeling of complete failure. He felt as though the day had been a waste. He'd exhausted all of his searches and he had no further leads, and now he'd put Arthur in trouble. He just didn't see how it could get any worse.

He kept his eyes to the ground as he Apparated, watching the reflective tiles of the Ministry fade from view before an altogether different view met his eyes. Harry stood at the entranceway to his and Ginny's kitchen and immediately wondered if he shouldn't have gone to the Burrow instead. His tired eyes ached as he gazed over the vestiges of the celebration dinner he and Ginny had had such a short time ago. Heavy candlesticks sat between golden plates and goblets set for two on the heavy table. It was all waiting to be cleaned and put away. Neither of them had wanted to take the time to clean on their short weekend together, so they had left their dirty dishes to be put away another day.

He took a deep breath and blinked several times, pushing the happy memories out of his mind. He didn't want to think about it, but he couldn't help it; the images flashed before is eyes like a picture show. It had only been two days ago; they'd shared a wonderful day together making plans and laughing. They had picked out a few possible names for their baby, laughing at some of the ridiculous suggestions.

"_There's always Mundungus, Gin,"_

"_No. I won't have a son called 'Dung,' Harry. I won't," she said, laughing._

"_Come on, he was loads of help when it mattered. Loyal, business savvy..."_

"_Crooked?" she suggested. "And he stunk! I don't think he ever bathed as long as I knew him."_

"_OK, then...if not Dung, then how about Otis?"_

"_Otis?" Ginny wrinkled her nose. "And who says we're going to have a boy, Harry? What if it's a girl?"_

"_A girl? Well, I can think of a few names. How about Bertha?"_

_Ginny let out a snort. "Bertha? Harry, that's bad." She paused, tapping her chin softly with a slender finger. "Wait, I have one: Dorcas."_

"_Arg, that's horrible, Ginny._

"_Or how about Mertle?"_

Ginny's face had been flushed with happiness. After they'd laughed themselves hoarse, they had contemplated how their lives would be changing. He had told her how much she meant to him, how much he loved her. But it had all fallen to pieces in only a matter of hours. The urgency to find her was stronger than ever, and standing still was not helping his nerves one bit. Along with the desperation he felt, fear griped him tightly. He didn't know what to do; he had no idea how to find her. As an Auror, he'd always been very concerned for families of persons who had disappeared or been killed, of course. What kind of wizard wouldn't sympathize with something as horrible as all that? But this, this was new and frightening. Ginny had simply vanished, and that fact only made him feel desperately anxious.

The grandfather clock against the wall ticked loudly as Harry's hurt grew. Standing in the midst of it all, remembering such a happy moment when his heart was so damaged made the ache inside his chest grow and grow until he could not hold it in any longer. His eyes burned as they filled with restrained tears. He was sad; he was lonely. He missed her so much that it made him physically ill, yet, at the same moment, he wasn't keen on re-hashing happy moments. It just hurt too much. The pain grew in intensity and Harry moved before he knew what he was doing. He forcibly gathered the dishes, wiping his eyes angrily, and dumped them in the sink for washing. He would rid himself of such reminders if it would make the hurt go away. He quickly filled the sink with soapy water and rolled up his sleeves. He scrubbed at the plates vigorously, remembering that in his youth he had lost himself many times in the work he had done around his Aunt's home.

He grabbed a goblet rather aggressively, making the stem break in his hand. The glass cut open his palm and he immediately dropped the pieces into the water. "Damn it!" he shouted, half pleased with the surge of pain and anger he felt. Little springs of blood flowed from the cuts and ran in watery trickles down his palm and onto his wrist. He grabbed the blue dishtowel from the counter and wrapped it around his hand to absorb the blood, all the while trying to force away the heavy lump that had once again formed spontaneously in his throat. Choosing to ignore the fact that the stinging of his eyes had nothing to do with the cuts on his hand, he abandoned the sink and moved to sit at the kitchen table.

His body felt very weak and tired as he tried to get his emotions under control. _It will do no good to feel sorry for yourself, Potter,_ he admonished. _Stop this bloody blubbering–_

A loud screech made him jump in his chair. Hedwig had flown into the room and had settled herself on the high back of one of the dining chairs near him. Clicking her beak and ruffling her feathers, she gazed at Harry as though she knew what he was thinking. She had seen him in such a mood many times, Harry knew, and he felt slightly comforted at seeing the bird. She had always been a good friend to him –a constant in his life in many ways when such things were so few and far between. Giving her a very weak smile, Harry stretched out his hand to stroke her feathers. Hedwig hooted, somehow soothing his nerves, and fluttered to his shoulder to nibble at his ear affectionately.

"Hello, Hedwig. How have you been, girl?" he asked quietly. She left his shoulder to alight on the tabletop where he could stroke her more easily. Her feathers were soft and a little wet from the snow, he noticed, and he was vaguely curious where she had gone to in this weather. They always kept one of the upstairs windows slightly ajar for her, as no one was usually home to let her in and out, which made for a drafty house, but a happy bird. She nibbled his fingers causing little pinches of displeasure to shoot up his hand, but he didn't pull away. "I've –I've been away for a bit. Are you hungry?" His throat felt as though it had closed off, and even after clearing it, his voice still sounded strange to his ears.

She trilled softly in answer and Harry raised his hand lazily to Summon an owl treat from the cupboard. Hedwig immediately tore into her small feast leaving Harry to stare at her gloomily.

"You don't happen to know where Ginny is, do you?" he said, swallowing hard. She did not acknowledge his words, but kept tearing at her treat.

"I can't find her, Hedwig. I don't know how or where...." He paused and looked out the window. It was snowing heavily, obscuring the view partially so that he could only see dark outlines of familiar objects. The tree right outside the window swayed gracefully as it gathered more snow on its bare limbs. Harry didn't doubt that Ginny would have thought the scene beautiful. Harry wiped at his eyes, and repositioned himself in his chair. "I've got to find her, Hedwig," he whispered, "but I don't know how." He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes tightly. "I've got to get some sleep," he muttered finally and stood. He stoked Hedwig absently once more, not noticing Hedwig had finished her meal and was blinking solemnly at him, before stumbling into the den. He would sleep on the couch tonight, as he didn't think he could face the bedroom right then.

As Harry slumped onto the couch for a restless night, he didn't notice Hedwig take flight.

Ginny was very hungry. Her stomach growled and chewed upon itself uncomfortably as she sat in the stifling heat of the potion room. She mopped her sweaty brow with her sleeve and stared at the flickering flames underneath the cauldron in a kind of trance. She was of two minds as of this moment: she didn't want to make the Draught, because the consequences were too terrible to merit thinking about, but on the other hand, she knew she had to cooperate to save her and her unborn child's lives.

Hours had passed since Malfoy and Rabastan had left her in the antechamber, and she still hadn't managed to make up her mind on what course of action to take. The dragon's blood that had been bubbling for over an hour was now scorched, giving off the foulest of odors. The smell didn't do much for her sensitive stomach, but without a wand, there was little she could do to remedy the stench.

Ginny stood, swaying on her feet as dark spots appeared in front of her eyes. She needed to sleep; she needed to eat. She needed Harry. A dry sob wanted to escape her throat, but she swallowed it away and grasped onto the nearest shelf to steady her body. She had no idea how long she had been awake, but she was sure it was very late. While Ginny was grateful not to be in the cold cell she had been in yesterday, this room was just as uncomfortable. The heat from the cauldron was stifling in the small room, her clothes nearly soaked through with sweat, and the smell...well that would only get worse.

Her eyes blearily fell onto the rows of vials and corked bottles that were filled with slimy animal body parts and other unappealing ingredients. She knew she had to find something to eat, no matter how disgusting it might taste. Mayfly wings, beetle eyes, rat and pig fetuses, Doxy venom, rose hips –her eyebrows raised in surprise and she pulled the latter down. She unstopped the small, glass jar and dumped its contents into her hand. _At least it won't kill me_, she thought as she popped a few rose hips into her mouth. They were dry and bitter, but were a better alternative to the Doxy venom or the beetle eyes. She replaced the vial and continued to search for something she could eat; trying to swallow what she already had, but was interrupted by the door being slid open.

"What are you doing?" came the disdainful voice of Draco Malfoy as he eyed the cauldron and then Ginny. "How far have you gotten?"

"I'm hungry," she said. She didn't want to call attention to the fact that she hadn't progressed any farther along on the Draught.

"I didn't ask you if you were hungry," he snarled. "How far have you gotten, Weasel?"

Ginny glared at him. "I need to eat. I need water, Malfoy."

He took a few short steps to the cauldron and peered inside. "You haven't done anything?" he said, incensed. His face had become very white and his nostrils flared. "Perhaps you need a reminder of why you are here." He walked the short distance around the side of the cauldron and grabbed Ginny's hair, pulling her head backwards. "Do you need me to give you another taste of the Cruciatus, Weasley?" he said, his moist breath hitting her ear and making her squirm. "Have you forgotten who is in charge, perhaps?" Ginny felt his wand tip touch her neck as he pulled harder on her hair. He pushed her away from him, making her hit the shelves behind her. Several corked bottles shattered at the contact and before she could even push away from the shelves, she felt the sting of his hand across her cheek; the dark spots in front of her eyes grew until she lost consciousness.

Hermione tore off her winter cloak furiously and left it on the couch arm. "Ron?" she called loudly into the stillness of their home. "Ron, are you home?" When there was no answer, she felt a shock of annoyance run through her that she quickly quelled. She'd just been at the Burrow, where everyone was stationed, and had left to grab her overnight things. The entire family had congregated to the Burrow, not only as a base of operations, but for moral support as well. _Not that it did any good_, she thought vehemently. Harry had disappeared over an hour ago without so much as a word to anyone...and right after that mysterious Ministry owl had arrived as well.... Harry was such a pain in the arse sometimes.

She walked up the stairs and into the bedroom, craning her neck into the bathroom as she went by. "Ron?" she called out again. She hadn't seen her husband since earlier that day and was starting to worry; he'd been assigned the duty of talking with the _Daily Prophet_ about printing an article about Ginny's disappearance. B_ut that shouldn't have taken all day and into the night_. She frowned as she pulled off her boots, balancing precariously on one foot at a time, before leaving them in the middle of the bedroom floor. Bill had been with Ron, she knew, so nothing untoward had probably happened, but she was still somewhat worried. Her worry for Ron was nothing compared to her annoyance at Harry, however. Thinking of her best friend and his refusal to communicate was enough to make her want to pull her hair out in frustration. "I don't know how Harry expects anything to get done if he won't tell me anything," she muttered under her breath. She pulled off her clothes and left them in a pile on the floor, something she would have normally chastised Ron for doing, and went to the large chest of drawers for her nightgown. "Running off at the drop of a hat...really, hasn't he learned anything?" She jerkily pulled a warm flannel over her head and stalked to the closet to pull out her travel bag. "Honestly!" she raged, as she shoved articles of her and Ron's clothing into the bag, not really paying attention to the fact that she hadn't packed him any underwear.

"Hermione, something wrong?" said Ron as he entered the bedroom.

Hermione looked up, shocked, and sat on the bed. "No. Sorry, I'm just a little...perturbed at Harry."

Ron furrowed his eyebrows. "I can certainly tell something's upset you. You didn't hang up your cloak...and look what you've done to my clean floor," He said, motioning to the piles of clothes and deserted boots. He smiled weakly at his wife but it was a smile Hermione didn't return.

"When did you get home?" Hermione asked. "Where have you been?"

"I just walked in...Mum said you'd come home to get some clothes so I thought I'd help," said Ron, making his way over to the bed and sitting next to her. "What's happened? You look frazzled."

Hermione blew a few hairs out of her face and turned to Ron. "Harry won't tell me _anything_," she said heatedly.

"Well, that's nothing new. He's always been a bit secretive hasn't he?"

Hermione ignored this and continued. "He got this letter about some Ministry hearing an hour ago and he wouldn't explain anything to me about it. He just ran off for your dad. We're trying to help him and he won't even let us in on what's happening."

Ron frowned. "I just saw dad and he didn't say anything about a hearing. Are you sure?"

"Yes, very sure. It came right when we were talking about Ginny –" Hermione stopped, suddenly remembering something that made her heart sink: Ginny was pregnant. She opened her mouth to tell Ron, but was stunned to silence by the look on his face. His benign blue eyes were pained and troubled and his bottom lip was pulled between his teeth, something he only did when he felt on edge. Looking at him properly, she didn't know how she could have missed it.

"Ron, what's happened?" she asked, placing her small hand in his. It was cold and clammy.

He brought his eyes, which had been staring blankly into space, down to hers, "I nearly killed someone today, Hermione." His hand tightened around hers and she saw his jaw muscle clench in a familiar fashion.

"What?!"

He nodded solemnly, now looking at his lap. "Yeah, I ran into Malfoy on the street this afternoon. I was on my way to meet Bill so we could go to the _Prophet_ to give them information on Ginny, and that's when I saw him."

"Malfoy? I haven't heard anything about him for ages," said Hermione with a frown.

"I know...funny that he turns up now that Ginny's gone missing."

"What did he say?"

"He said something snide, as always, about the family and I ignored him at first. But then...," Ron continued, looking at Hermione. She could see his face redden and his eyes grow dark with anger. "Then he mentioned something about Ginny, and I lost it."

"What did he say?" asked Hermione again. Now she wasn't at all disturbed that her husband had said he'd nearly killed Malfoy; she wanted to know what Malfoy had said to deserve it.

"He said something about her being the only one smart enough to marry into money and then he said, 'but Potter's money isn't going to save her now.'"

Hermione gasped and covered her mouth with her fingers. "Ron, he knows something."

"Don't I know it?" he agreed. "I pulled my wand on him but Bill stopped me. I was ready to kill him, Hermione."

"Oh, Ron," said Hermione, unconsciously squeezing his hand even tighter and giving him a hug. "What do we do?"

"We have to tell Harry," he said, his voice echoing strangely into Hermione's ear which was pressed against him. "Tonight."

_Was it daytime?_ Ginny wondered. She certainly felt like it was morning as her stomach churned in a sickening, very routine way. She rubbed her eyes and squinted through the dark. She was back in the cold cell she had been in once before, her fingers and toes like ice. Her breath rose in curls before her face and it took a moment for her to realize that she wasn't alone in the cell.

"Ah, you're awake," said Rabastan in his weak French accent as he stood over her form, his wand in his hand. "You aren't as tough as I had thought you would have been. Draco barely laid a hand on you and you passed out."

Ginny glared at him but kept her mouth shut.

"I have something for you to see," he said, delighted, as he pulled her into a sitting position. He gestured to the opposite end of the cell, where a slight form was hunched up against the cold. Ginny could see the body's breath curling into the air just as hers did, and a sickening swoop ran through her stomach that had nothing to do with her pregnancy. It was Cindy, her lusterless, short hair peeking through the top of a tightly drawn robe. All the breath left Ginny momentarily as she gazed upon her friend's sleeping form. _Had they really taken her memory_, she wondered. Ginny hadn't wanted to believe Draco and Rabastan, but she didn't doubt their cruelness.

"She's cold," Ginny croaked out. She didn't know why she felt like she needed to say it, but the urge to aid her friend in any way was strong. "Give her something –another cloak- it doesn't matter."

"I'm not giving her anything," he said icily and Ginny's anger was immediately kindled. She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, wishing that she had enough strength to cause him serious injury. She pulled herself off of the cold ground and stood, the black spots winking before her eyes once again. Rabastan raised his wand at her threateningly, but Ginny paid him little heed. Instead, she made her way over to Cindy and unclasped her own robes to lay them over her friend's slightly-shaking body.

Ginny's exposed upper-left arm immediately broke into more goose pimples, but she ignored them. She was much more concerned about her friend. "Cindy?" she tried tentatively, placing her hand on the solid lump. Cindy moved slightly, drawing the cloaks more firmly around her but she did not respond to Ginny's voice.

"Cindy, it's me, Ginny."

Nothing.

Ginny gently peeled some of the cloak away from Cindy's face and saw that her eyes were screwed shut as though pretending to be asleep, though not very convincingly so. "Cindy, it's OK. It's me, Ginny." One eye relaxed after a beat but only opened a slit. Another beat, and Cindy's face relaxed, her grey eyes exposed.

"Don't hurt me," Cindy croaked, making Ginny's heart ache painfully.

"I won't."

Cindy hesitated then shifted slightly to reveal her full face to Ginny. Her face was horribly bruised. She had a large cut over her right eye that needed tending and a rather large welt on her cheek that had split open. Ginny turned her head sharply to glare at Rabastan. "What did you do to her?"

"She was punished because you would not do as we asked," he said fluidly, meeting Ginny's glare with raised eyebrows. Ginny closed her eyes tightly against the news. Tears prickled the backs of her eyes and she had to pause to calm herself. She turned back to her friend.

"Do you remember me, Cindy?"

"No."

She'd only whispered it, but the word rang loudly in Ginny's head like a bell. It was true; they'd taken her memory. Ginny could see the blank stare of her friend, and suddenly, everything became so much more real.

"There, see?" said Rabastan quietly. "Her mind is gone." He spoke clearly, but his voice seemed far away, as though he was at one end of a long tunnel, and she was at the other. "She is useless to you..."

Ginny bit her lip, silent tears falling down her face. They meant what they had said; they would hurt Cindy depending on Ginny's actions. Now they would kill her if Ginny did not perform to the expected standard. "I'm sorry, Cindy. I'm so sorry." Her friend blinked at her a few times but said nothing. Ginny felt completely drained. She had no fight left in her; she had tried to withstand but she had failed miserably. She would have to do as they had asked.

Harry turned over on the too-small couch, trying in vain to get comfortable. The blanket he was using wasn't meant to cover a grown man, only a lap, but he didn't want to get a larger covering; he wanted to be uncomfortable because he figured that wherever Ginny was, she was probably much worse off. Punching his pillow, he turned onto his other side. The den was dark, only a few swaying shadows, cast by the trees kept his eyes away from Ginny's usual corner. He focused on the shadows, not wanting to look upon her neat stacks of books or her half-finished mug of tea. He'd seen it earlier, there were lip marks left near the rim from her lipstick...she'd been drinking it while she'd read some of her poems. He bit his lip and turned onto his other side again, his face against the couch back.

Whoosh!

The dying fire suddenly erupted into green flames and Harry, in his hurry to turn around, fell onto the floor.

"Good, you're up," Ron said darkly, his face illuminated with a green glow. "I'm coming over."

"Ron! What-" Harry shouted, fumbling for his glasses, but Ron's head had already gone from the fire. An overwhelming sense of dread spread through Harry. Ron had sounded upset, angry almost. He sat down shakily, trying to prepare himself for bad news.

The fire burned brightly once more and out stepped Ron's lanky form. "Hermione's coming too," he said, pulling the desk chair around to face Harry. He sat in it and turned his gaze to the fire, which had suddenly sprung to life once more, to see Hermione step into the room. Ron stood and offered his chair to Hermione before conjuring his own as Harry wrung his hands in dread.

"What?" Harry asked. "What's happened?" He was perched on the very edge of the couch, ready to spring. Hermione looked concerned, Harry noticed, while Ron looked intensely serious.

"I saw Malfoy today, Harry," Ron started, his jaw set. "He knows something about Ginny."

Harry's eyes traversed between his two friends quickly, searching for an explanation. "What do you mean?" he asked in a harsh whisper. Harry couldn't think of anything worse than Malfoy having his wife. He'd kill her. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Ron said, nodding his head. "I'm very sure."

"He said something about your money not being able to save her now," Hermione interjected. "How on earth would Malfoy have known Ginny needed being saved?"

Harry stood abruptly, his fists clenched, breath coming in quick spurts. He should have known Malfoy would be behind it somehow. He'd taken Remus from him as well, in a very brutal manner, and Harry cursed himself for not killing Malfoy when he'd had the chance. "I don't have to remind you of what he's capable of-" Harry said.

Ron nodded. "I nearly tore his throat out when he mentioned her."

"Harry," said Hermione nervously, watching him pace, "just because Malfoy knows something about Ginny, doesn't mean that he's the one who has her."

Harry stopped his movements and pinned Hermione with a glare. "If you think that I'm going to sit by and do nothing when Malfoy-"

"I didn't say you had to sit and do nothing, Harry," she interrupted, her voice deadly serious. "I'm just pointing out the fact that Malfoy has connections...he may have only heard about Ginny being taken."

"You think that he was just having me on, then?" asked Ron, looking incredulous.

Hermione shook her head. "I'm only saying...look, you know how he likes to taunt you two. Telling Ron something about Ginny would certainly get back to you, Harry. He might only be doing it to get a rise."

"That doesn't matter!" shouted Harry. "If he knows something, then I'm bloody well going to go and beat it out of him." He turned to Ron, "And I suppose you think she's right?"

"No," said Ron. "I think that you have to find him, Harry. And I'm coming with you."


	5. Bubble, Toil and Trouble

5: Bubble, Toil and Trouble

A/N: GASP "Did you hear? Jner has finally updated!"

Yeah, yeah, I know…it's been far too long. But in my defense, having a job that I have to go to everyday (one with rowdy 9 year olds) gets me worn out and writing isn't even possible. However, as a Christmas plus, I hope to have chapter 6, which has been started, up right around the holiday. Yay for me! And for you! ;)

A sincere thank you to my wonderful reviewers. Additional thanks go to Michele for the beta and to Kelly, my muse. You ladies deserve the highest praise. Three cheers for them. Yay!

One more thing: I need to put a warning on this chapter, as it has some mild language, nothing that isn't deserved in my opinion, but the warning is there all the same.

(Third day; 2:00 am)

Ginny stood silently next to the bubbling cauldron, a vial of pimpernel oil, the first ingredient to be added to the newly replaced, un-scorched dragon's blood. Her normally steady hands shook with nerves and fatigue. Darting her eyes from the cauldron back to the vial that was suspended above it, she bit her lip as she debated within herself. Tipping the vial ever so slightly to spill its contents would normally not be difficult in the least; she did it day after day at work, but now, standing in the stuffy antechamber, she found the simple act of adding the first ingredient very difficult.

But no matter the difficulty, she had to decide whether or not to make the potion at all.

Making the Draught would not save her…they would kill her once it was finished, but she felt that she had to cooperate. She wiped her sweating brow with the back of her free hand and steeled her nerve. She could still refuse to cooperate and be killed straight away…_I should…I ought to be noble like Percy or Dumbledore_,_ or any other number of people who had died in the war_. But when she thought of sacrificing herself for the greater good, when it was still possible that she might be found, something inside of her, her stubbornness, perhaps, swelled powerfully. A desperate will to survive overshadowed all other possibilities, no matter how un-heroic saving one's own skin might be. It was a very Slytherin thing to do, she knew, and that thought alone was enough to stay her trembling hand. She withdrew the vial that was suspended above the cauldron by a few inches as she thought of acting like one of her enemies --like Malfoy-- only to hesitate and put it back. _I've done enough sacrificing_, she thought vehemently. She wanted to live to be a hundred and raise a houseful of children. She wanted to send them off to Hogwarts and worry over them, send them fudge and woolly jumpers; she wanted to have trivial arguments with Harry and hold his hand, she wanted to have the life they'd both dreamed of having.

Being noble and good was important to her, but so was life.

_If Harry hasn't come for me by the time it's nearly finished, then I'll destroy the potion_, she told herself. She bit down on her bottom lip, silently convincing herself that this plan was just as noble as not making the Draught at all and then slowly tipped the vial so that it's slightly pink contents dribbled into the boiling dragon blood. When the oil hit the surface, it hissed and popped and turned a much darker shade, almost black, then stilled. She took a copper spoon and stirred the contents three times counter-clockwise, her heart heavy. This decision she'd made, though still repairable, felt as though she'd betrayed something inside of herself. _I'm only buying myself time_, she thought forcibly. _I've done nothing wrong_. But even as she added the next bit, diced root of Mandrake, her discomfort did not leave. She'd finished the first steps of the Draught and now all that was needed was time. The Mandrake root had to simmer in the dragon's blood and Pimpernel oil for at least an hour, and then it had to be strained and mixed with a Runespoor egg. Staring down into the steaming cauldron, she prayed that Harry would come for her soon.

After a few moments of quiet thought, she moved to a corner and slumped onto the floor to rest. She was incredibly tired and hungry. They'd carted her straight from the dungeons and Cindy's side to the antechamber, ordering her to get to work.

_It's so hot_…. She'd been feeling feverish in the heat of the small room for several hours now. It was so hot that she thought she just might pass out. She needed to sleep but if the Mandrake root was overcooked, the potion would be useless. As she sat, fighting her drooping eyelids, she thought of Harry. _What must he be doing now?_ He'd probably be beside himself with worry, she knew, and she suddenly wished that she could waylay his fears; she wanted to comfort him in his worry and grief, but she knew there was little chance of that happening. _If only I could get a message to him_. She frowned, her eyelids now far too heavy to keep open, and brought her knees up to her chest, hugging herself. If only she could find a way to get a message….

_Hedwig beat her wings frantically against the freezing gale, her expert eyes scanning the dark horizon. The air was dry at this altitude, only a few wispy flakes of snow fluttered about as the cold air whistled past her. As always, the loyal bird flew with full purpose, with no intention to let her master down. The sea stretched out below her, no coast line in sight. She looked tired; her chest heaved with each beat it took to push her onward. She hadn't had any rest for a few hours, but on she flew, never faltering. _

Whether a minute or an hour passed, Ginny didn't know, but her eyes flew open at the heavy boot against her side, nudging her awake.

"Sleeping on the job, are we?" said a new and rather oily voice. "Get up, you need to eat." Ginny blinked and focused on the man's face as the vivid dream she'd just had trickled away from her. Something about the dream comforted her, though as she looked at the old man above her, the slight flutter of her heart had ceased into a tired thud against her chest. He was old, his lips very wrinkled as though he'd spent most of his life puckering them, and his hair looked like small, white wires poking from underneath his cotton cap. His eyes, she noticed, were dark and shiny; so dark, that she could not discern where the iris stopped and the pupil began. Tearing her eyes away, Ginny pushed herself up off the floor and was surprised when the older man grabbed her elbow to help her. "Come on, hurry it up," he said in the same oily voice that didn't seem to suit him.

I've got to check on the potion," she said, her throat burning from the fumes. She didn't know how long she'd dozed off…it could be time to strain the potion.

"Go and check then," he said, nodding toward the steaming cauldron. Ginny glanced at him momentarily before turning her attention to the pot. His shoulders were rolled forward slightly and he was missing two bottom teeth, but she didn't doubt his ability to overtake her. If Draco had sent him in to fetch her, then he was obviously no one to trifle with. She blew the steam away from the bubbling concoction and estimated that hardly any time had gone by at all…maybe ten minutes at the most, as the color of the liquid would turn silvery once the Mandrake was stewed properly.

"Let's go…I haven't got all night to wait on you," he said when Ginny stepped away from the cauldron and looked at him expectantly.

The old man nodded toward the door and gestured with his wand for her to go first. She hesitated for only a moment, unsure of what was in store for her, before stepping through the sliding door. The outer room was still wreathed in long shadows cast by stubs of black candles; the fire grate was empty but she was momentarily grateful for the cool air now hitting her heated face. "Where are you taking me?" she asked, her eyes darting around the room. The few portraits that hung on the walls were empty and it made the room feel even more eerie. It made her feel utterly alone, with no one to witness the cruelty displayed in the manor.

"No questions, just do as you're told."

He half-pulled, half-led her out into the elaborate hallway and down the hall toward the very end where she knew the staircase to the dungeons waited. Instead of going down the stairs, however, he stopped in front of a door opposite the stairs, and pushed her through. A large and very spacious kitchen met them, a heavy and well-worn wooden table to their left, and a short cooking island on their right. Numerous silvery pots and skillets hung from a rack above the island, and Ginny knew the kitchen was made for house-elves. Everything was set lower, the cabinets and the pantry door handles, to accommodate the elves' size. The older man shoved her into a seat at the table and Summoned some bread and cheese from the cabinets surrounding the vast kitchen walls. "Eat quickly, you need to get back to work," he said, pointing his wand at her.

Ginny didn't need to be told twice. Breaking off a large chunk of bread and shoving it into her mouth, she chewed quickly, eager to finally sate the constant burning of her stomach. The bread was rather dry, making it difficult for her to swallow, but she wasn't about to complain. She was finally getting food and she was grateful. She continued to eat, hardly chewing before swallowing, but stopped short of filling her mouth with cheese at the old man's slightly amused stare. She suddenly felt embarrassed that she'd been displaying such horrid table manners. It was stupid to think of such a thing under the circumstances, but her chagrin was there nonetheless. She swallowed slowly and lowered the cheese, meeting his beady black eyes.

"Why'd you stop?" he asked, as smile in his voice. "I've never seen a woman eat like that before. It was entertaining, if not downright nauseating."

Ginny set her jaw and raised an eyebrow. "I'd have thought you'd seen a lot worse with the kind of things you and your mates get up to."

He laughed silkily and conjured a goblet of water for her. "You always putting on this bravery act, girly?"

Ginny clenched her jaw and picked up her goblet. She didn't feel brave in the least. If she'd been brave, she would have stood her ground by refusing to cooperate. Of course she would have been dead by now…but still, she shouldn't have caved in like she had. Sitting here, in front of a coconspirator of crimes, she suddenly felt like she'd betrayed not only Harry and her family, but herself. What had she been thinking? Why had she even consented to help? Her life was certainly not as valued as the safely of the world.

The old man seemed to be following her train of thought, unfortunately, his thin lips curling onto a smirk reminiscent of her old potions master. If she hadn't known that Snape was dead, she might have thought he was sitting in front of her in disguise. "Not what I would have expected from Potter's girl," he said quietly. "I'd have thought _his_ woman would rather die than become a traitor."

The words burned her and she had to bite down on her lip to keep it from trembling. "I haven't betrayed Harry," she said resolutely, blinking the moisture out of her eyes.

"Haven't you?" He tutted softly, "And I thought you were supposed to be smart."

Ginny gripped the heavy stem of her goblet even more tightly, her knuckles white, her hand shaking. She opened her mouth to retort, but was interrupted by the door being flung open; it banged loudly as it crashed into the wall opposite. Geoffrey stood there, his dark eyes flickering quickly to Ginny before falling on the old man at her side.

"I have instructions for you, Faren," said Geoffrey. He looked sideways at Ginny as if deciding if he should say something in front of her, then looked back at the old man with his trademark grin. "It doesn't matter if she's here," he said dismissively before handing the older man a piece of paper. "It's not as though she has any power to stop us."

Faren looked at Ginny briefly too, though his gaze wasn't nearly as unsettling as Geoffrey's. She wasn't sure if she was frightened of Geoffrey because of his earlier aggressions toward her, or if she could just sense something about him -some sort of womanly intuition- that told her he was far more dangerous than the man presently pointing a wand in her direction.

"All of the others are prepared," Geoffrey stated. "We're leaving within the hour."

Faren nodded. "Who have they chosen this time?" he asked, a strange gleam in his beady eyes.

"Draco thought it would be fitting if we attacked the Pinnock girl."

Faren smiled knowingly and laughed his silky laugh. Just looking at the two of them, eager to kill such an innocent girl made Ginny's skin crawl. Indeed, attacking Louise Pinnock, whose home had served as an underground refuge for Muggle-borns during the Second War, would be quite a blow to the wizarding world. Louise Pinnock, the only daughter of two war heroes, had watched her parents and three older brothers die at the hands of masked Death Eaters. Louise was incredibly remarkable for a thirteen year old, as she'd continued her parents' noble work, refusing to give up even when faced with so much danger. She'd escaped the Death Eaters and had gone on to save over one hundred souls that fateful night of the Last Battle by escorting them safely from the danger and onto Hogwarts grounds. Killing her would not only be grieving, but would strike fear into their world once more. People were supposed to be safe now…war heroes didn't suddenly disappear; the Death Eaters were making their first move, it seemed.

Ginny's stomach churned with disgust. She hated everything about these wretched men and what they stood for. And even worse, she was cooperating with them. She was making the Draught to free their dangerous friends from Azkaban. Ginny suddenly didn't feel very hungry anymore.

"Excellent," said Faren. "But who will be here to watch her?" he asked, nodding his head in Ginny's direction.

Geoffrey turned his fiery gaze onto Ginny and said with a sick smile, "I am."

Professor McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was extremely tired, but she still had more work to do. Sitting at her heavily polished desk, portraits lining the walls, she tried to focus once more on the task at hand. Apparently, the Slytherin prefects weren't getting on with the Gryffindor prefects (_tell me something new_, she thought), and had hexed the Fat Lady with a dreadful case of Globule Splat, a most grievous affliction that caused her to foam at the mouth uncontrollably and spit on herself. As a result, the students were unable to get into the common room because, in her embarrassment, she'd fled from the portrait. If this weren't enough, the Gryffindor prefects had taken it upon themselves to "lose" the Slytherin house's laundry. Not only this, but they'd placed a Sticky jinx on the robes the Slytherins' were currently wearing in an act of retaliation. The Slytherins had been complaining all day that their clothes had stuck to them most uncomfortably but couldn't bathe because they had no changes of dress. Needless to say, Minerva was exhausted and she still hadn't located the Slytherin robes.

As she moved onto another task – one not so trying on her patience – she wondered, not for the first time, just how Albus had done it. He'd had all of Hogwarts and the Order to oversee, as well as the Ministry to contend with, and he'd still accomplished all his daily tasks. It was astounding all that he'd done. Minerva cast a glace at her old friend's portrait near her desk. It was presently empty; there was no doubt in her mind that he was out socializing. She'd seen him many times having tea or playing chess with various other portraits around the castle. She'd been shocked last term to find him in the fourth floor portrait of Froderick the Fiend, playing a rowdy game of ten-pen bowling. Smiling slightly at the thought of her old friend's much-deserved retirement, she found her next item of business. Argus Filch had sent yet another list of newly forbidden items along with his weekly request to banish Peeves from the school. "Won't he ever give up?" she said to no one in particular, annoyed. There seemed to be no end to the old man's resolve to rid Hogwarts of the poltergeist.

There was a time in her not-so-distant past where she would have eagerly approved Filch's request, but now, after the War, her mind had been swayed. The castle was the poltergeist's home, just as it was for many others, and he had defended it when the time had come. His effort to aid them in the Last Battle hadn't gone unnoticed by her, and she'd be forever grateful for the flying dustbins, ink wells, and water balloons he'd assaulted the enemy lines with. Not only this –and she would never admit it out loud- but she felt that now that the Weasley twins were gone, things were a bit too quiet. Leaning forward in her high-backed chair to fill her quill with ink, she was suddenly distracted from her thoughts by the sound of rustling robes amid the numerous sleepy snores from the portraits lining her walls. She glanced around her, spotting the perpetrator, and waited silently for him to settle himself into the high-backed chair in his portrait. Phineas knew that she was awaiting his report and it aggravated her that he was drawing out his seating adjustment. Finally, after he finished smoothing his heavy robes, he cleared his throat, ready to speak.

"Headmistress," he said in his usual bored voice.

"Phineas," she said, putting her quill down. "Have you been to the Slytherin common room like I had asked?"

The curling of his lip answered her question before he even opened his mouth. "I will never understand the petty inter-school rivalries that students so eagerly engage in. Their immaturity and ineptitude never cease to amaze me."

"What did you find out, Phineas?" she asked, ignoring his sour attitude.

"The elves have finally found the Slytherins' clothing. It was apparently being used as bedding for the owls in the tower. The elves have just recently returned the clothes in question, freshly laundered."

"Good," she said, turning once more to her parchment. "Thank you, Phineas." She dipped her quill into the ink well and let it hover briefly over Filch's denial:_ I regret to inform you that your request to bani-"_

"Headmistress," came Phineas' voice once more. He was speaking quietly and Minerva looked up from her work to see his pensive expression. She pursed her lips slightly and laid her quill down. He was very much unlike his usual uncooperative and sneering self. She was worried about him, quite frankly.

He continued, "I've heard some rumors that have got me a little curious."

_Yes, he definitely isn't feeling up to his usual self… _

"I don't spend a lot of time away from the castle, but as you know, my portraits hang in many places. I've been hearing rumors about kidnapped witches and Death Eater escapes."

Minerva sat up straighter in her chair. "What's this? Are you sure?"

Phineas threw her an annoyed look before examining his fingernails. "Would I mention it if I wasn't sure?"

"Where are these rumors coming from?" she asked, rising from her chair. "Who has been abducted?"

"I'm not entirely certain. Names haven't been given. But I do know where they are rumored to be held."

Minerva waited for the location, watching the old wizard smooth out his robes unnecessarily, before she could wait no more. "Well? Where is it then?" she demanded, straightening her glasses.

"France."

All the breath left Ginny in one terrible swoop of her stomach. She was to be left alone with Geoffrey. No one would be there to intervene if he got out of control, no one would stop him from hurting her in the worst way possible. She'd rather die; she wouldn't survive something as horrible as rape, she just knew it. She'd already suffered so much…far too much. Such a violation would cut her more deeply than even Tom Riddle had. Physical rape, rather than a rape of her identity, didn't seem worse, but it seemed that it would break her. She hadn't realized before her capture, but she knew that she was fragile. Being here, forced to do something against her will, made her examine the fragile, paper-thin scab of wellness she'd desperately covered for all these years. Rape would break her.

"No," she said looking at the old man pointing his wand at her. "You stay. Geoffrey cannot be left alone with me."

Geoffrey's eyes glinted maliciously, almost prideful at her request. Ginny knew that her asking not to be left alone with him betrayed that she was terrified of him, but she didn't think that was very important anymore. What did it matter if Geoffrey knew just how scared she was of him? Her pride pushed aside, she tore her eyes from Geoffrey's and met Faren's. His look was calculating; his brow slightly furrowed as he studied her. He glanced at Geoffey's pleased look, back to Ginny's pale face. "Why does it matter to you, girly? What makes you think that I'll treat you better than him?"

Without thinking, Ginny reached a pleading and shaking hand toward the old man but jumped and recoiled when he lifted his wand and pointed it right between her eyes. "You'll not move a muscle, understand?" he whispered. "Draco's orders were for Geoffrey to stay and that's how it's going to be."

"That's right, love," said Geoffrey, moving so his face was inches from her own. His hands were splayed out on the table on either side of her, boxing her in. "It's just you and me tonight…we can finish what we started."

The door to the kitchen opened once more and Rabastan stood there, with Draco directly behind him. Her eyes pleaded with the two men at the door, but she knew that her wishes would go unnoticed. Geoffrey didn't move an inch, however. His eyes were trained on Ginny's pale face, and then roved down to her exposed shoulder and arm. She shivered uncontrollably and focused her attention at the two men at the door. They were wearing heavy black cloaks and holding familiar-looking white masks in their hands. "What's the hold up?" asked Rabastan, his eyes flickering between all of them. "Faren," he asked, his gaze falling on the old man. "Is she fed and watered?"

He nodded and stood up fluidly. "She was just finishing when Geoffrey came in." Draco sidestepped Rabastan to eye them all superiorly.

"Enough of this," said Draco with is usual drawl. "We've got an appointment...Faren, get your things, we're leaving momentarily." He sent one more flickering gaze around at them all before landing on Ginny. "Get back to work. That Draught needs to be finished as soon as possible." Then he turned silently on his heel and left, Rabastan and Faren following. The door to the kitchen swung shut, leaving Ginny and Geoffrey alone.

(Third day 4:00am)

Harry's heart was pounding as he dashed around his room, quickly gathering various needed items. He pulled on his Auror cloak, which was built for fighting, and tucked a knife into his boot before double checking that he had his wand and his map. He was no longer tired in the least, but felt a surge of angry energy, pushing him onward. Malfoy would be sorry…very sorry indeed. Harry quickened his pace to the doorway, pulled it open soundlessly, and stepped out onto the landing. He could hear the slightly muffled sounds of Ron's and Hermione's argument in the den wafting up through the stairwell.

"It doesn't matter, Hermione!" Ron shouted. "This is Ginny we're talking about…my sister!"

Hermione huffed noisily. "Ron you're missing the point. There are ways of doing things and this is _not_ the way to go about finding Ginny."

Harry heard Ron let out an exasperated noise somewhere between a snort and a sigh. "Do you honestly think I'd let Harry go alone?"

"Ron, please!" Hermione had obviously changed tactics and was now pleading with her husband instead of shouting. Harry had to strain his ears to hear. "_Please_, Ron, go to the M.L.E.S. or…or Auror Headquarters. Contact Tonks or Shacklebolt, it doesn't matter who, just don't go off the handle like Harry. Do this the right way; don't do like he does…."

Harry had heard enough. He stormed down the stairs, his heavy footfalls drowning out the conversation, and turned the corner into the den, glaring at his two best friends. "Enough of this," he hissed. He threw a furious look at Hermione but she didn't shrink in fear or even embarrassment; instead, she met his stare and even took a step toward him.

"Listen to me, Harry." When Harry opened his mouth to shout that he didn't want or need to listen to anything she had to say, she pointed her wand at him threateningly. "You'll listen to me, Harry, or you'll be in no fit state to go anywhere!" Harry gritted his teeth and glared heatedly at her as if in a warning. "I'm not saying that you don't have good reason to question Malfoy," she continued, ignoring the angry heat rolling off of her friend. Merlin knows he has it coming to him, but you _cannot_ go without proper jurisdiction. You're an Auror, Harry. You above anyone else know that there's an order to these things. Go to Shacklebolt, get permission, and bring backup if needed. Don't go in an angry frenzy and get yourself in legal trouble, or worse, killed."

Harry felt himself deflate slightly at her words, but it only made him angrier. He couldn't afford to lose the blind rage he was feeling; he needed to direct his anger at someone, and he'd found the perfect target. He was going to tear that bastard, Malfoy apart. His blood was pounding in his ears as he looked at Hermione's wand pointed at his chest. He couldn't believe she'd threaten him like this, was surprised and further infuriated by her audacity. He knew that she was only being her usual logical self, but Harry did not want to be logical. He wanted to bring his Ginny home.

"Lower. Your. Wand." Harry said in a dangerous whisper. Hermione's hand trembled slightly before she let her arm drop to her side. Her lips were pursed tightly and white. He could see Ron's worried face from his peripheral vision, but ignored him. "If I go to Shacklebolt, I'll be banned from going to Malfoy Manor. That isn't even an option…I'm going to be the one to find Malfoy. I'm the one who's going to make him bleed for all that he's done to us. For Remus…for Ginny. I don't care if I'm sent to prison, I don't care if I'm killed, I'm going to kill that son of a bitch if it's the last thing I do."

Ron nodded solemnly, clearly ready to step aside and let Harry avenge his surrogate godfather and his wife, but Hermione opened her mouth to say something, an ugly frown on her face.

"Listen to me, Harry…"

"No, you listen for once!" Harry bellowed mere inches from her face. "I'm going; you can stop your husband, but you cannot stop me!" With that he walked swiftly to the front door and pulled it open, only to get a face full of feathers. An owl flew right into him with a screech and then fell to the floor with a thud before righting itself groggily.

"That looks like a Ministry owl, Harry," Ron said darkly. Harry looked down at the slightly swaying owl at his feet and felt his stomach drop. The letter that was tied to its scaly leg was black, an indicator that was nothing good: There was an emergency. Harry bent and scooped up the owl hastily and untied the letter with fumbling hands. All he could think about was that they'd found Ginny dead somewhere. The thought made him lose his breath so he quickly dispelled it from his mind.

Unfolding the Ministry letter, he read:

_Harry,_

_Come quickly, there's been an attack. The paperclip is a Portkey._

_Tonks_

All the air left Harry's lungs in relief. Though an attack wasn't perhaps good news, it hadn't said anything about his wife being found. And as far as Harry was concerned, he'd much rather receive this than an announcement of Ginny's death. He let the note drop to the floor as he fished out the paperclip from the envelope. Almost immediately he felt the familiar tug behind his navel, whisking him off to the trouble. Moments later, his feet hit solid ground and his knees bend forcibly to absorb the shock. He was outdoors, in a forest clearing with several other Aurors who were whispering to each other and casting armament charms on each other. The air smelt strongly of smoke and something else he couldn't put his finger on.

"Harry," said Tonks, who had spotted him across the clearing and was making her way toward him. "You'll be with me tonight." That came as no surprise to Harry, as he and Tonks were regular partners. Aurors were always paired up with senior officers when investigating a crime. Senior officers not only taught the younger Auror's new skills, but they were able to make sure they didn't do something stupid and get themselves killed. Harry was far past needing watching and mentoring, but he and Tonks liked to work together because of their history. He trusted her with his life, and she trusted him as well.

Harry nodded. "What's happened? Who was attacked?"

Harry saw her lips form into a thin line and her cheeks grow red. "It's so horrible Harry," she said, and Harry felt the little hairs on his arms stick up. What if they _had_ found Ginny? Surely they wouldn't call him directly to the crime scene…they wouldn't spring it upon him like this…?

"Who is it?" Harry demanded, his hands shaking slightly. "What happened?"

Tonks' eyes darted past his shoulder then flickered onto his face once more. "Do you remember the Pinnock girl, Harry?"

He nodded, a guilty swoop of relief running through him. It wasn't Ginny…they hadn't found his wife. "Is she still alive?"

Tonks threw another look over his shoulder and bit her lip. "We don't know yet. We're still waiting for everyone to show up. McCain should be here any moment then we'll move in. But from the looks of it, I don't know how she could have survived."

Harry followed her gaze, which was once more past his shoulder, and saw a billowing pillar of black smoke rising into the air, the green, star-studded outline of a skull and a snake suspended in the air: The Dark Mark. The Death Eaters were growing bolder, daring to admit that they were behind the attack. It could only mean one thing: the Death Eaters were back. They were going to fight, they were confident enough to strike, which would mean that their forces were strong.

"Are the prisoners in Azkaban still contained?" Harry asked quickly.

Tonks shook her head slightly, a confused look on her face. "What are you on about, Harry? How could they be behind this?"

Harry drew in a deep breath and frowned. "Forget it, forget I even mentioned it."

Before Tonks could question him further, there was a dull pop that indicated the arrival of McCain, and Tonks left to issue his orders. Harry's eyes turned to the heavens, the sickly green glow of the Dark Mark making his blood boil with rage. He'd hunt them all down, every last one of them if that's what it took to get Ginny back.


	6. Chapter 6: Hedwig Takes Flight

CHAPTER 6: Hedwig Takes Flight

A/N: Can't just get right to the story, now can I? I've got to delay you a bit here to thank my good friend T'Rell for her help. I struggled a lot with this chapter for one reason or another…it was all just getting far too meticulously involved and I knew that I'd lose the few readers I have. Anyway, to make a long story short, she helped me through some rough spots and moved me into a new direction, the fruits of which, I hope you'll enjoy. So thanks to Rell for her help and to Musings for the beta.

Warning on this chapter: it contains some adult themes and violence, which are enough, I'd say, to put this chapter up to an R rating.

(3rd day; 3:00 am)

Ginny swallowed nervously as the footsteps of Malfoy, Rabastan, and Faren died away. They'd gone and left her alone with Geoffrey. She squeezed her eyes shut when Geoffrey, still very close to her, lifted his hand to touch her face. With one finger, he delicately traced her jaw line, lifting her chin slightly. Ginny inhaled sharply through her nostrils, tugging her chin away from him.

"Come now, love," he breathed. She could feel his sour breath hit her cheek and she opened her eyes to glare at him. "Don't make it more difficult on yourself."

"You make me sick," she whispered, her hands trembling.

He grabbed her chin roughly with one strong and calloused hand and yanked her head forward, the muscles in her neck screaming from the forced movement. "Listen here," he said calmly, though the painful grip he had on her betrayed his feigned composure. "You'll do what I ask and do so without complaint, or I'll knock those teeth right out of your pretty little head."

Ginny did nothing to convey that she understood or would comply, but he must have assumed that she was too frightened to defend herself, because he abruptly loosed his grip and sat back from her, leaning against the solid table. "What should we do with the time we have together, then?" he asked innocently.

His eyes traveled from her face down to her dirtied and torn blouse, to her exposed shoulder. She hastily wrapped her free arm over her partially exposed chest. He seemed amused by her gesture of modesty and let out a sickening laugh. "Won't do you any good to try and cover up, love. It's all going to come off soon anyway." His hungry eyes bored into hers and Ginny closed her hands into fists to keep them from trembling.

"You can't…they need me to finish the draught," she said weakly, far past being frightened. She knew what was about to happen. She could feel a sick bubble inside her throat expand as he surveyed her.

"I'll be sure to leave you with enough strength to finish then," he growled.

"The potion is nearly ready for more ingredients." she said quickly, trying to distract him, her body tense as she prepared to bolt.

He smirked, silently telling her that he didn't care much about the Draught at that moment, and put his wand in his pocket smoothly.

It happened fast. He shoved himself from his place against the table and stood, grabbing her wrist; she let out an involuntary cry of surprise and scrambled to her feet, knocking her chair over in an attempt to run. But his grip on her wrist was too tight and he yanked her back toward him, her arm feeling as though it had come loose from its socket. She twisted her wrist wildly and pulled, setting herself free, but he lunged at her again, his arms wrapping around her waist. The force of his attack caused them to crumple to the floor, Geoffrey landing atop Ginny with a hard smack. The impact knocked the wind out of her lungs and she struggled to breathe. He immediately righted himself and held a strong hand over her throat, making it that much more difficult to catch her breath. She pulled at his fingers desperately; she clawed at his face, digging her dirty fingernails into his skin and leaving a bloody scratch across his right eye. She was rewarded with a sound strike across her cheek that brought the taste of blood to her mouth.

His hand was over her throat again, squeezing relentlessly. She clawed that back of his hand again and again, to no avail. She wheezed, kicking and flailing in any attempt to free herself. Her eyes watered from lack of oxygen, a desperate choking sound leaving her throat.

She was going to die.

She could feel her world around her darken at the edges and spread until all was a haze. She was strangely grateful at the realization that she wouldn't be alive much longer. She wouldn't feel it, she wouldn't remember…. But then he let go of her throat, growling and tearing at her long skirt with both hands until she heard it rip. She gasped for air, coughing and gulping. The coolness of the room bit at her exposed thighs and she immediately crossed her legs, locking them together to refuse him. She tried to roll away but he fell on her again and pinned her to the floor, his quick bursts of breath hitting her neck. He pulled at the already ripped fabric of her blouse and she felt it tear away; tears clouded her vision as a desperate sob left her lungs. She couldn't fight him off; she was too weak to defend herself against him.

He held her wrists tightly above her head and brought his lips to her ear. "Wait until I tell Potter," he said, bringing his other knee over to straddle her thighs. "I'll tell him how easy it was, how much you liked it."

Ginny screamed with rage: frustrated that she could not defend herself, angry at his mocking tone, furious at what he would tell her husband…what it would do to Harry to hear it. She shook her head violently, kicking harder than ever and was rewarded with a hiss of pain from Geoffrey. One of her knees had made contact with his groin and had caused him enough pain to make him keel over onto the floor, howling in agony. She stood as quickly as she could, her legs shaking, and cast her eyes around for a weapon. There wasn't anything but pot and pans.

Geoffrey's attention was on her again and he stood, his eyes watering and cringing at the pain she had caused him. He took a few steps toward her then stopped, searching for his wand.

Ginny took advantage of his momentary lack of attention and ran for the hanging pots and pans, pulling one down. It was a heavy cast-iron skillet that she found she had to hold with two hands. She watched, as if in slow motion, as he found his wand and turned his eyes in her direction once more. Now was her only chance, she'd have to hit him now as there would never be another opportunity. She ran toward him, holding the heavy skillet like a beater bat and swung with all her might at his surprised face. A loud, gong-like intonation rang from the contact. The vibration from the intense blow shuddered up her arm. Geoffrey fell ungracefully to the floor in heap, blood rushing from his nose and mouth. His eyes had rolled up into his head and a fair few teeth had departed from his mouth as well.

Ginny dropped her weapon, breathing heavily and eternally grateful that Fred and George had taught her how to swing a Beater's bat so many years ago. She wiped her hands on her ripped skirt before the noticed her blouse, shredded and completely useless. It hung loosely off of her small frame, exposing her upper half to the world. She looked down at what remained of her skirt felt hot tears well in her eyes. It was only a blouse and a skirt, but just looking at them, at what Geoffrey had done to her, made her lose the small amount of control she had. A stuttering wail left her, her body shaking, and she quickly bit down on her hand to stop herself. She couldn't sit and cry even though she desperately needed to. She needed to have a good, long cry, but it would have to wait. She sniffed noisily and rolled Geoffrey over, pulling at his robe. She would have to wear it to escape, as going outside as naked as she was, wouldn't be a wise decision.

Ginny struggled with his robe for a moment but finally got his bulky frame out of it, then put it on. It smelled foul – just like its owner – and was far too large for her, but she would have to make do. She fished out his wand and, casting one last dark look at Geoffrey, made for the door.

Hedwig alighted on a branch outside of a large estate, and hooted softly. Although flying across the English Channel wasn't perhaps the most exhausting thing she'd ever done, finding Ginny had to be close. She ruffled her feathers against the cold and cast her expert eyes over the house where she knew Ginny was staying.

(3rd day; 3:00 am)

Harry gazed at the charred ruins of the Mansfield home, his nostrils burning with the acrid stench of charred flesh. The cold night air was no longer noticeable, what with the remains of the house still radiating heat and smoke. Not much was left; the roof and upper floor were completely destroyed. Only a fragmented skeleton of brick and mortar jutted up from the scorched earth was left. The magical blast that had annihilated the home made a painful something seep into Harry's heart and he briefly wondered if it had been the same sort of magic that had destroyed his parents' home so long ago, before pushing the thought out of his mind. Harry nudged his glasses up higher onto the bridge of his nose, a nervous habit, and looked up into the eerily glowing sky; the Dark Mark cast a halo over the remains of the house and, looking up into the dark sockets of the skull, he felt a chill run down his spine.

When Little Louise Pinnock's family had been killed in the war she'd come to stay with the Mansfield family. They had gladly taken her in, an orphan, and had given her a place of her own. They'd opened their arms to her and because of their kindness, they'd suffered ultimately.

Harry's heart fell as he recalled their burned bodies. They hadn't done anything to deserve this. No one ever had.

His anger toward Malfoy had not dimmed, but he'd pushed it roughly aside for the time being. His nerves were on-edge and he was itching to leave and hunt the bastard down, but Harry knew that he couldn't; Harry had been called to the scene and was expected to do his job. He _had_ to focus on the ruin before him – something that he was sure Malfoy had also been a part of – and forced himself to look at the smoking remnants of a once-happy home. He had so many questions racing through his uneasy mind: was this attack evidence of a celebration? A warning? Had Ginny made the Draught?

"No witnesses, no survivors…sounds a bit familiar, doesn't it?" Tonks asked, interrupting his thoughts. He glanced sideways and looked at his partner as she, frowning, carefully stepped over the remains of a settee.

Harry didn't respond immediately, but turned over a lump that resembled a book with his toe. "Suspects, though, we've got those," he said darkly, peering up into the sky. Tonks followed his gaze and Harry could see her lips press together in a firm line at the sight. She looked away after a moment and let out a breath, shuffling her feet. The sideways glance she threw at Harry gave away what she was thinking: she knew he was going to blame Malfoy.

"Harry—"

"—Right, I know," Harry growled, picking up what was left of a picture frame and scowling. "That bastard can't be blamed for everything." He chucked the warm piece of wood and was pleased when he heard glass break in what was left of the adjacent room.

Harry knew, as well as Tonks, that Malfoy had gotten away with Remus' murder those seven years ago. Malfoy had feigned innocence and had been cleared of all charges, even to the point of not being branded as a supporter of Voldemort or his Death Eaters, as he should have been. He was a walking reminder to Harry that the world they were living in was neither safe nor was it just.

As if he needed reminding.

And because Harry had suspected that Malfoy had been behind other crimes – trying to bring him to justice, only to be proved wrong – within certain circles, Harry now had the rather notorious label of blaming Malfoy for everything and got an almost constant ribbing for it. _"Oh, Potter, it looks like Malfoy has struck again,"_ and _"No sense in finding evidence is there, Potter, when we all know that Mr. Malfoy was behind it all?"_ Harry bit the inside of his cheek and glared at nothing in particular. He knew not everyone teased him in such a way, and even though he appeared to take it all well, under the surface, it bothered him a great deal.

"I know that in the past he's done horrible things, Harry," Tonks said, turning her pale face to his. "And I won't ever be able to forgive him for what he did to Remus, but we haven't heard anything from him for nearly five years. Don't you think that if he had been up to something, we'd have heard about it?"

Harry shook his head, his lips pressed into a firm line. "That's just it, Tonks; he's a coward. Of course he'd hide away and slink into the shadows. He's been biding his time. And now that things are looking in his favor, he's striking back."

"Are you going to Shacklebolt with this accusation, then?" she asked. The expression on her face made it clear to Harry that she'd already figured out the answer.

"Of course; I've got to, don't I?" Harry glanced once more at Tonks, noticing her sooty brow. He desperately wanted to tell Tonks about Ginny's disappearance, but he knew that he shouldn't. If he did, then she would immediately press him to inform Shacklebolt, and when Harry would refuse, she'd tell their supervisor herself. The supervising Auror's first act of business would be to forbid Harry to have anything to do with the active investigation, something that he was unwilling to have happen. Biting his tongue, Harry swallowed his inherent need to search for comfort in Tonks; he knew there would be nothing his Auror friend could do.

"Well if you're going to Shacklebolt," Tonks said, nodding sagely, "then we've got to find some hard evidence." She smiled a bit sadly and tugged on his arm before walking away. Harry turned to follow, his hands in his pockets, when she abruptly turned to face him once more. Her eyes were dark and cheerless, something he still hadn't become accustomed to seeing on his friend. "I want him to pay for Remus as well, Harry. I want Malfoy to live a long life knowing that he's been stripped of all that he holds dear."

Harry swallowed as Tonks paused and looked away, not saying anything to interrupt her. He was well aware of her hurt and anger, but seeing the sudden mistiness in her eyes made him forget his own suffering for a brief moment.

Remus had been murdered almost immediately following their marriage seven years ago. He and Tonks had decided to get married on the spur of the moment, at the height of the war. During those few, battle-filled weeks they had been married Harry had never seen Moony happier. And Tonks, well; Ginny used to say that she'd glow whenever Remus walked into the room. Things were different these days: Tonks did her best to appear happy but Harry knew – probably more now than ever – just how deep the pain ran when one loses a spouse.

_Stop it, you haven't lost anything. You'll find her_.

Tonks sniffed and stiffened, smoothing down her robes unnecessarily. "I'll help you Harry; if Malfoy had anything to do with this, well…I want him to get what's been coming to him."

Harry placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. "Thanks Tonks. It means a great deal."

"I'm sorry," she blurted, her eyes darting from Harry's chest up to his face, "if in the past if I wasn't always very supportive of your work against Malfoy. I don't really know why…I suppose I was just too sad to examine, too afraid to fight the man that killed…." She looked away and Harry felt, once more, an overwhelming sadness on behalf of his companion. "If anyone should have fought him, it should have been me," she said, looking even more heartbroken. "But I didn't. I just wanted to forget. It took this," she said, gesturing at the ruined house around them, "to wake me up. He isn't going to go away until we make him."

Harry nodded, understanding her choices. While she had never joined in with their coworkers, teasing Harry and his unusual quickness to blame Malfoy, she hadn't ever voiced her support either. Remus' murder was still a tender subject; Harry wondered if her heart would ever heal completely. "You have more reason than anyone to put him away, Tonks," he said, and then paused. He wanted to tell her that he didn't just want Malfoy to go to prison. He wouldn't be satisfied with knowing he was simply rotting away behind thick walls: he wanted to hurt him physically. Harry wanted to carve the bastard's worthless, black heart out for making his life miserable at Hogwarts, for taking Remus, and now his wife away from him. "We'd better find that evidence, then," said Harry, nodding in the direction of the other Aurors, sweeping the premises with charms.

Tonks cleared her throat and placed her hand on Harry's arm, stopping him. "Thanks, Harry, for trying to avenge Remus."

Harry didn't know what to say. He knew that his reasons for wanting to put Malfoy away were selfish, not out of some sort of honor. But he honestly didn't know if that mattered at all. Should someone in his position, someone who had been as wronged as he had, want something else – something more kind – for an enemy? He didn't know and he didn't want to waste his time thinking about it. He only wanted to do his job as fast as possible so he could get out of there and find Malfoy.

(3rd Day – 3:45 AM)

Ginny ran as fast as her legs could carry her down the long hall before she could go no further. Her tired lungs burned and her heart pounded against her ribs. She had to find a fireplace that she and Cindy could escape through, but she didn't know her way around the estate and she didn't have time. She didn't know how long she had before the others came back, or if she was alone in the house. At that thought, she suddenly froze, holding her breath with difficulty and straining to hear any sort of noise that would alert her of another person coming.

Nothing.

Swallowing and darting her eyes around, she made a decision. She'd have to go about this the right way. She first needed to get Cindy then find a fire –_no, first find a fire, then get Cindy_. Ginny nodded to herself and gripped Geoffrey's wand tightly; the foreign wood slipped in her sweaty grasp as she made her way to the closest door. She'd passed at least half a dozen already from the kitchen and there were probably just as many stretched out ahead of her. She placed her ear to the dark wood and when she didn't hear anything from within, she placed her hand on the cold silver handle. The door opened smoothly and without sound, for which she was grateful.

The room was dark. Large, shapeless furniture met her and she could hear the distant ticking of a clock. She stepped inside and lit the wand. It was a music room: an elegant black piano sat in the corner and Ginny wondered briefly who played it. Glancing along the walls, she noted that the entire front wall ahead of her was made up of windows: large, arched windows that she could see through. She ran to them and extinguished her wand, hoping to get a telling glimpse of the landscape. If she knew where she was, if she wasn't far from home, she might be able to Apparate. The sun wasn't up yet, though she could tell it wouldn't be long. Dark, tall trees met her gaze and she felt her heart fall. She didn't know where she was. It was snowing slightly and, gazing at the leafless trees, she could almost hear the stillness of the winter scene. Suddenly, she saw something swoop quickly from a tree toward the window and she jumped. It was stupid for her to be standing near a window; she didn't know who was around to see her walking freely around the large house.

She'd have to try a different room; she stealthily made her way to the next door and paused, just as she did the first. Not hearing any indication that there might be someone or something behind the door, she went inside. This room too, was dark, but there was a fireplace; it's throbbing light making her heart lift in hope. Glancing at the uncovered windows, she decided she wouldn't light her wand. She eagerly approached the fire and began sifting through the contents on the mantle. There were exotic-looking statuettes, pewter candleholders, and an empty ornate brass box; there was no Floo powder to be seen. Frustrated, she turned to the stately desk that sat nearby. Each drawer was filled with crisp parchments, ink, and other normal things you might find in a desk, but nothing she needed. _Damn_. Her aggravation grew and she felt like crying once more. _Could nothing go right_? She wiped her brow and bit her lip. _Think_.

Tap, tap, tap.

Ginny's head shot up, her body instantly posed and ready to run as she looked for the source of the noise.

Tap, tap, tap.

It was an owl, a snowy white owl; it was Hedwig. A sudden relief flooded her at the sight of the bird outside of the thick glass. She wasn't alone anymore; she'd been found!

She ran to the window, tears blurring her vision, and tugged the window open. Hedwig hopped onto her arm and chirped quietly. "Clever girl," Ginny whispered, softly stroking her beak. "Such a clever girl. Is Harry here?" Her eyes were streaming from the relief she felt; she would be OK, she'd been found.

Hedwig chirped again and ruffled her feathers before fluttering to the desk.

"Tell him where I am, Hedwig; is he here?" she asked wiping the tears away.

The bird nosed an inkpot that sat on the desk and looked at her with her big somber eyes. Ginny felt the smile on her face slip into a frown; the relief she had felt only moments before had vanished and left a hallow feeling of loss. He wasn't there…Harry hadn't come. Hedwig wanted her to write him a letter? It was like she'd been taken all over again, like she'd been ripped from Harry a second time.

Hedwig clicked her beak insistently and pushed the inkpot harder, nearly tipping it over. Ginny shook herself. _Now is not the time for tears_. She hurriedly did as Hedwig commanded and groped around the desk for a quill and parchment. She grabbed the first bit of paper she could find and dipped the quill in the dark ink. It was a newspaper, she noted, which happened to be written in French. She paused, the quill dripping black ink onto the dull paper, and read the title. It was the French Daily Prophet. She was in France! And she suddenly knew: she wasn't being held captive in the Malfoy Manor, she was being held at the Lestrange estate. If Harry knew who was holding her, he would be able to find her.

"W'ere are you, you bitch!"

She froze. Geoffrey must have woken up…and he was searching for her.

Ginny scribbled a quick note- _France, Lestrange, find me!_ -and rolled up the newspaper. Hedwig grasped it in her scaly claws and took flight. Although Ginny was grateful to have Hedwig come to her aid, she wondered if the faithful bird would reach Harry in time. London was at least two hours away.

(3:45 AM)

Arthur rubbed his eyes from underneath his glasses. He was currently sitting among the forbidden files in the Covert Operations Experimental Magic Department, trying to find a clue –anything- of who could have leaked the Memory Draught information to the Death Eaters. Because the Ministry was conveniently occupied with the attack in London, he was safe for at least the next half hour. He wasn't cleared to be up to his elbows in the case files, but he was willing to commit this crime, as he had several other times for the Order. This misdemeanor was for the greater good…and his daughter. Not that his time there had produced any clear answers. As far as he was concerned, there was no evidence that suggested Mr. Glen Foulkes had any connections to the case. His name wasn't even mentioned in the numerous files.

He'd gone through stacks and stacks of parchment, all bits and pieces of information about his daughter and Cindy, their progress, the state of the prisoners, and surprisingly enough, information on Harry and the Weasleys, as well as Cindy's husband and children. He thumbed through the pages that contained information on their family and noticed that they were criminal screening results. They'd all passed, apparently.

Next he opened a file that described the layout of the Apothecary in St. Mungo's and who worked where. Behind a map, there was a list of personnel: receptionists, Potion Masters, custodians…. Arthur quickly found Ginny's name and read her job description: _Ginevra M. W. Potter: Case File 43779: Memory Restorative Draught._ Arthur continued on down the list until he found something that caught his attention.

On the list of custodians, a small handful of names that he normally wouldn't have thought twice about, was one that happened to catch his eye. There had been a Mr. Faren Johnston that had been fired over a year ago, evidence of the red capital letters after his name spelling out "DISCHARGED". Arthur pushed his glasses up his nose and frowned. Perhaps he was completely off, but that name sounded familiar to him. Quickly replacing the files to their previous placement, and checking his watch, he decided that he needed to go to an altogether different section of the Ministry to see who exactly Mr. Johnston was and why he had been fired.

After a breathless beat behind the door, he slipped out from the file room and turned left, not looking behind him. He thanked his lucky stars as he twisted through the halls that he hadn't met anyone. It would be difficult to explain why he was walking the hallways instead of sending out an official statement to the _Prophet_ like he should have been doing. He rounded one last corner and climbed aboard the lift, wiping his sweating brow with a kerchief. Why did the name Faren Johnston sound so familiar to him? He was sure he'd heard it before; he was sure he'd met the man.

The lift doors slid open easily on the ground level where witches and wizards were quickly exiting and entering the lifts, their voices echoing in the Atrium. He held the doors open for a wizard, nodding his hello and walked steadily toward Personnel, behind the welcome desk.

"Hello, Eric," Arthur said kindly in passing.

"'Lo, Arthur," he said, nodding, hanging up his cloak. It seemed that he was just arriving for work. "Terrible, isn't it? That poor girl and the Mansfields…I just can't get over it."

"Yes, horrible thing to happen," Arthur agreed. As he'd been searching through old files, he hadn't heard who had been attacked. He wasn't sure who the Mansfields were or if they had survived, but he wasn't about to admit it when he should have known all the necessary information already. There were probably loads of paper aeorplanes fluttering around his small office right now. He needed to hurry, or someone would notice he had gone missing. Looking at his watch once more and cringing inwardly, he made a decision.

"Say, Eric, could you do me a favor. I'm in a bit of a rush."

He nodded in understanding, "Sure thing, Arthur, what can I do for you?"

I need some information on a Mr. Faren Johnston: what's he doing now for the Ministry… there's an opening in my department and I'd like to see if he's open," he lied. "I appreciate it, Eric. I've got to run." With that he threw the man a smile and turned back to the lifts, eager to get back to his job.

(4:00 AM)

Tonks sighed, looking a bit apologetic as she glanced at Harry. They hadn't found anything to tie Malfoy, much less anyone, to the attack. Although they both believed that Malfoy had had something to do with it, neither of them had found anything related to their common enemy. "I'm sorry, Harry. It looks like he's got away again," she said, brushing soot off of her robes.

The rest of the Aurors had left about a quarter of an hour ago to give their findings to Shacklebolt, but Harry – not wanting to be noticed missing – wanted to wait for everyone to leave before he went to Malfoy's estate. He was tense with anticipation, ready to go and find his wife. "Tonks, listen," he said absentmindedly squeezing his wand, making it heat up slightly, small gold sparkles winking out of the tip, "I'm going over there."

"_Where_, Harry?" she asked, though by the look on her face, he could tell she knew exactly where he meant.

"He's gone too far this time." Harry could feel his hands shaking slightly. He wished he hadn't received the notice about the attack at all; it had forced him to lose some of his blind rage. It was there, however, under the surface and he knew that he could call it to use at any moment. "He's not going to hurt us again. I won't allow him to take everything away from me." He knew that he must sound completely mad to Tonks, but he didn't care. His emotions were all over the place and he didn't really have any sort of clue what was the right thing to do.

Tonks opened and closed her mouth twice before demanding that she go with him. Harry didn't have time to disagree.

Fifteen more minutes had passed. They were lucky the sun wasn't up yet; the long shadows of the pine trees concealed them on the edge of the large estate. The stale snow under their feet crunched with each small movement and Harry had the good sense to cast a silencing charm, in addition to a Disillusionment charm, over them before they moved closer.

"It's still dark inside," Tonks whispered. "Do you reckon he's even here…after an attack like that?"

"He's probably piss drunk, celebrating his victory," he said bitterly. He narrowed his eyes at the house which sat some fifty yards away, wracking his brain on how to best approach their enemy. "He wouldn't want to draw attention to himself if he's here. He should be sound asleep right now, so it would make sense that everything seems so still."

"How are we going to do this, Harry?" Tonks hissed, her voice low and urgent. "We don't even know if he's here or if he was behind the attack. What happens if he _is_ sound asleep, with a solid alibi? Without any evidence we'll be thrown out of the Aurors! Worse yet, thrown in Azkaban!"

Harry did not look at Tonks, but kept his eyes narrowed at the house. He'd seen a flickering movement – like a candle – moving behind one window and over to another. "It's more than just the attack, Tonks," he growled. "He's got my wife."


	7. Chapter 7: Dead Ends

A/N: I'm well aware that I'm the biggest procrastinator the world has ever seen. It's been months since I've written anything –nearing 7 months, I think. Far too long. For that, I must ask your forgiveness. Life has brought me many changes and I can only make excuses.

Anyhow, I'm happy to report that there are only a few chapters left which are, with any hope, soon to be completed. I hope there are at least a few people who remember my story and/or haven't given up on me! I had a case of writers block, accompanied with a horrible bout of self-doubt. Anyhow! Thanks to Musings for the beta and to Staci who made me sit and write upon pain of death. Well…almost.

Third Day 4:30 am

"Where are you, you bitch?"

Ginny's heart leapt into her dry throat. Her body stood frozen to its spot, a pounding in her ears. He'd awoken. Geoffrey would find her and he would kill her; of that she was certain.

She quickly dashed to the dark corner near the door to better hear his location. She heard a wet-sounding cough, the uneven shuffle of feet –she waited, holding her breath- it was quiet for a few tense seconds. She could almost feel his slow progression towards her hiding place, could imagine him staggering past each door. She held her breath as the sickly sound of his laborious breathing came and went. He wasn't checking any of the doors, she noticed…she hadn't heard any indication of a door being used; her mind raced.

_Where does he think I'd have gone? Probably out the front door…wherever that is. _

Ginny bit her lip and strained her ears harder, uncertain. She couldn't hear anything. Should she just run for it? What if he saw her?

_So what if he did?_ she asked herself, tightening her grip on the stolen wand.

Ginny placed her clammy hand on the cold silver door handle and paused to place a concealment charm on herself. Taking a deep breath, she eased the door open enough to peek through. The rich wood-paneled walls and the soft flickering of dying light were all that met her eyes. She opened the door a bit wider, just enough to let her body through and, looking both ways, silently slinked in the opposite direction that she'd heard Geoffrey go. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the long, dark expanse of hallway and couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine. She'd experienced running for her life before –too many times as it were- but the quaking urgency that reverberated through her limbs at this moment felt like nothing before. Ginny trailed her shaking hand along the wall as she picked up speed, lumbering toward the stairs. She would find Cindy and convince her to come along. They'd climb the long staircase together and Ginny would get them out. Somehow, she'd get them home safe.

The stairs were concealed, but she knew they were there. She reached the kitchen and turned to the left, tapping the heavy wand on the expanse of wall where she thought the door might be. Sure enough, a soft click sounded and a handle, the same color as the wall, materialized. Glancing quickly behind her and seeing nothing, Ginny quickly entered and shut the door. She leaned against the wall; she felt her heart pound repeatedly in her heaving chest. The narrow stairs were steep and dark, with only one candle near her head illuminating her surroundings. The way down to the dungeons looked like a deep, black hole that, if not careful, she would fall into.

"Lumos."

Down, down she went, slowly at first then picking up speed. She could only see a few feet in front of her and the rest was swallowed by the cold dark. The air was becoming frigid and Ginny, already cold and weak, stumbled several times. Down, down, deeper and deeper; the air felt wet in her lungs and she knew she was near the end. Sure enough, she could see a dim and flickering light dance in her eyes ahead of her.

She continued towards it, the stairs becoming wider and, finally, she found the bottom. Her breath curled in front of her as she contemplated where to go next. She tried to remember the twists and turns that Malfoy had led her through only a few days ago, but there were far too many to remember correctly. She did remember, however, that there were a lot of hallways she had gone up and down and that she'd lost track halfway through, which was no help at all.

She looked left then right, knowing that she had to make a choice quickly. Cindy was somewhere in this cold and Malfoy and his goons could be back at any moment.

Marking the floor to the right with a red arrow, so she would know if she happened to be going in circles, she made her decision and set off quickly.

Third Day 5:00 am

Harry and Tonks, on Malfoy's estate, on the outskirts of Dover, crouched low against the large brick mansion. The snow was deeper against the house from the wind and their pursuit was slowed some. Knowing that there would be various wards or alarms in place to prevent someone from breaking in, Harry was thinking hard on how best to get to Malfoy. He wasn't really sure yet, but his fury and adrenaline were pushing him closer and closer to the front door.

"What are we going to do, Harry?" Tonks hissed, seemingly following Harry's thoughts, "we can't rightly just knock on his bloody door!"

Harry was seized suddenly with a thought: remembering once, long ago, when Dumbledore had said that the best way to understand the situation at hand was to perform the obvious.

"Yes we can," Harry said, not looking at his partner. He could hear her annoyed "tuh" but ignored it. "Knocking will bring someone to the door. The door will open, without wards being triggered, and we'll be inside."

"I think you're forgetting the mass of Death Eaters that are inside, Harry," she said hotly.

"Malfoy is _supposed_ to be asleep," he went on, continuing to ignore Tonks' protests. "A house elf will probably answer the door."

"Probably?" She was hardly whispering, her voice shrill. "A house elf? More like an unforgivable greeting us, rather than an elf."

"You've got a better plan?" Harry asked, turning toward her for the first time. Tonks nearly ran into him, her face an angry red.

"Yeah, maybe I do." She appeared to be searching and Harry was about to say something like "that's what I thought," but a sudden light seemed to come on in Tonks' eyes that gave him pause.

"Why not use Kreacher? He might be able to get in and talk to the house elves or something, let you know how many Death Eaters are in there…" She was speaking fast, her words slurring together. "…He'd be able to get in, better than you or I, and he could find out where exactly Ginny is being held. It's the smart thing to do, Harry."

Harry bit his lip. He was very eager to bust his way in and confront them now, not later, even if it was only a half an hour wait. Besides, he didn't really trust Kreature, and he was ready to fight; he was ready to find Ginny, to hurt Malfoy. But, even though he wanted to bang on the door and start cursing anything that moved, he knew Tonks was thinking much more clearly than he was. "Right, I'll Summon him," he conceded, "but let's move back into the trees."

A few minutes later, safely hidden from view of the estate, Harry Summoned his inherited house elf. Before Kreacher could even croak a disdainful remark, Harry silenced him with a wave of his hand. The elf was very old now; he hobbled along and had what looked like large, purple liver spots that covered his frail body. "I've got a job for you, Kreacher, listen closely." The elf sneered and muttered something that could not be heard. Harry waited impatiently for Kreature to rise from his bow. He could see Kreature's cracked lips move, probably cursing his name, but Harry ignored this and continued: "I want you to get into Malfoy manor without alerting the residences of your presence, without telling those you meet why you were sent or who sent you. Find some other house elves and get some information on how many Death Eaters are in the house, where they are, and where my wife is. I want this information quickly. Do you understand?"

Kreacher bowed his bald head in compliance, not looking at all pleased.

"And then I want you to return and report immediately after you've secured this information," Harry added quickly. "Go." With another wave of his hand, Kreacher's disdainful croakings could be heard. His voice was higher in pitch from his old age, and much softer, though not without his old venom.

"Kreacher will do what the boy tells him to do, the miserable, Muggle-loving half-wit. How Kreature hates him, how he has suffered— "

"Go!" both Tonks and Harry said at the same time.

With a crack, the elf was gone and Harry began to pace.

5:00 am

Ginny's feet were frozen. She'd stumbled through the underground labyrinth as quickly as she could carry herself in search of her friend. She didn't dare to call out Cindy's name. Malfoy could have left any number of guards behind to watch Cindy. Though, Ginny countered, it wasn't likely. Cindy didn't really need minding and Malfoy didn't have many followers. He would have needed them to help him murder that poor family. She'd never known Malfoy capable of doing anything that required guts on his own. He needed to feel protected and sure that he would leave unscathed. And there was also the fact that he enjoyed bossing others about. Still, she wouldn't take the chance of being heard by someone who meant her harm.

Ginny rounded a corner and saw that she'd already been down the corridor once before, as she could see her bright arrow pointing to the right corridor. Left it was, then. Marking the ground once more, she set off in the opposite direction, wand held high. There were heavy doors, some with locks, some without, lining the hallways, all of which she had to check. So far, she'd only found empty and dark spaces. Some rooms had been filled with rusted munitions, others with broken furniture, but so far, none that contained her fellow captive. This hallway, however, seemed a bit different. Instead of finding a handful of doors to check, she saw none except for one at the very end of the dark expanse. Upon closer inspection, the heavy door was highly ornate: there was a tree carved into the dark wood with names lining the thick, twining branches. There were hundreds of names, bunched together and branching out. The script, carved deep and elegantly, was done by magic, as the characters gave off a faint golden glow when her wand light rested upon them. It was a family tree, she realized, completely in awe. Slowly, and almost automatically, without thinking, she reached for the door's handle, an iron ring, and tugged. It did not open so she pulled harder, feeling some give.

She wasn't sure why she felt so compelled to open the door. She certainly didn't remember passing this place when Malfoy had led her out, but she wanted to see what was on the other side. It was difficult to open, the door bottom scraping on the uneven floor; Ginny had to use all of her body weight to force it open, but, finally, it opened enough to allow her through. The air was thick and smelled like earth. There was a fine dust hanging; she could see it in the wand light and could feel it in her nose and mouth. It was gritty and foul. Quickly covering her nose with a robe sleeve, she brought Geoffrey's wand higher. There, in the dampness, she could see exactly where she was. This was the crypt that kept the bodies of the dead Lestranges. They lined the walls, some covered with clinging sheets of gauze, but most were exposed to her view. She looked around shakily; she was surrounded. In every direction there were bones laying in the claustrophobic walls or displayed on alters. Bones were nothing to be frightened of, but she felt very uneasy standing there amongst all the deceased. Empty sockets and open mouths, clawed hands and rotted flesh...it was as though they were all watching her trespass in their ever-so-still quiet. She backed away, found the door, and stumbled out as quickly as she could manage.

She bent low, resting her elbows on her knees as she heaved in fresher air. She spat on the ground, trying to rid her mouth of that awful sandy feeling. She couldn't help the shiver that ran up her spine as she collected herself. The smell and the eerie intensity had cohered to her –she was bathing in its unnatural disquiet. Feeling suddenly jittery, she ran faster than she had had the strength for earlier. Her icy feet slapped the stone floor, sending cold shockwaves up her legs. She turned a corner and then another, forgetting to mark where she had come from or where she was headed, then stopped abruptly when she heard voices. Extinguishing her wand, she held her breath and listened.

"—could be anywhere."

"We can't afford to lose any more time; the Draught is probably ruined by now and she'll have to start over."

"It could take hours to find her!"

"Yeah, well, he wants her _now_, so we better hurry."

Ginny could hear them getting closer and she bit her lip, waiting for them to lead her to Cindy.

"Here, this way," one man said to the other and Ginny listened intently for their voices. _They must have turned a corner._ She quickly found her breath and her feet, cautiously following their quieted speech. She followed them left and then straight, and then left again. It was hard not to stumble in the dark after them so she kept a good deal of distance. She had not yet seen them, but knew that she hadn't yet met the owners of the voices.

"It's this way, yeah?"

"Think so…yeah, this way, come on."

Ginny heard a door grate open and close, their voices muffled and gone. Scurrying toward the two doors down the hall, she listened intently at the first and, hearing nothing, listened at the next.

"—time to finish this."

"Get her up!"

Ginny swallowed hard and tightened her grip on the stolen wand, anxious tremors running through her. She had the element of surprise, but she was weak and nervous. Could she stun them both before they overpowered her? Taking a deep breath and placing her sweaty hand on the iron ring, she made her choice before she could change her mind.

Although Harry was a wizard, and a skilled one at that, he did nothing to banish the cold that was cutting through him as he waited. It had been at least thirty minutes, perhaps more, and he was nearly crawling out of his skin. Not only that, but today was November 25th, the day of his hearing. If he didn't attend, he would be put on probation and, perhaps, worse. Work, of course, was nothing in comparison to finding his wife, but the stress it added was acute. He'd been in legal trouble before when he was younger and that had been nothing to the trouble he'd be in now once he missed his hearing. It was just as well, as he still hadn't thought of a good explanation for his knowing about the Draught in the first place.

Harry's eyes scanned the darkened windows of Draco's mansion. He hated waiting in any instance, but this was more than he could tolerate. The pregnant minutes passed so slowly; it was torment.

"Right," he stated matter of factly, his eyes focused on the house, "he's had plenty of time. I'm Summoning him back."

"You'd commanded him to come straight back once he had the information", she reminded him. "He's probably not done."

"Kreature!" Harry said, ignoring Tonks. "Kreature!"

With a feeble crack, Kreature appeared, his dark eyes averting the Auror's gazes. "Stinking master called and so Kreature comes. What is it they wants, the spoilt mudblood lovers? Why don't they leave poor Kreature alone?"

"What do you know?" Harry demanded, ignoring his insults. "Is Ginny in there?"

"Kreature is finding no one…master," he said with distain.

Harry didn't believe it. "Who is inside? Is Malfoy in there?"

Kreature looked like he wanted to spit. "Kreature is finding no one, sir."

"We saw lights, Kreature," added Tonks, glaring down at him. The elf did not respond.

"I want to know who is in that house," Harry demanded, raising his hand as if to strike. "You tell me!"

Kreature's face twisted into a glower. His lips were pressed thin, his hands balled tightly into fists. "Master wants that Kreature search the house. Kreature finds only elves."

"Did you search the entire house?" Harry squinted at the offending structure, his anger boiling. "Did you look everywhere?"

"The noble Malfoy estate is large and Kreature was Summoned before finishing." Kreature looked happy to deliver the bad news.

Harry swore and Tonks shifted on her feet, worried.

"We've just wasted a half an hour on this worthless piece of shit!" He turned in a tight circle, clearly frustrated. "That's it, I'm going in. Are you coming Tonks?"

She looked uncomfortable. "That's breaking and entering, Harry." We don't have viable cause according the law."

Harry's mouth fell open. "You're serious! You know…never mind. Go home and tell Shacklebolt I won't be there for my hearing." Harry swore again, taking huge strides toward the house, not trying to hide in the least.

Tonks followed him quickly, hissing. "Harry, wait! What hearing? What's going on?"

"Just tell him!" he growled. Tonks stopped walking, staring at his back. Harry didn't care if he was being rash or even rude. He heard her Apparate after a few long seconds had passed. All he could hear now was the crunching snow beneath his feet and his angry bursts of breath. He hated the worthless, lying house elf. He always had, just as Sirius had detested the very sight of him. And Tonks! How could she spout to him about how much she wanted to avenge Remus then up and leave when she had her chance?

Harry stomped up the wide, elegant stairs and, four feet from the stately doors, blasted them open with a punctuated wave of his hand. They banged loudly, snow swirling into the dark expanse beyond; he followed the snow in.

The floor was marble, the ceiling high. All was dark and quiet. Harry looked carefully all around him. He strained his ears but heard nothing. Stepping to his left, his wand held high, he entered a parlor full of shadowy, bulky furniture. His eyes surveyed the unlit expanse but he saw nothing to grab his attention. A clock on the wall chimed. It was nearing five thirty. He'd wasted so much time! He didn't want to think about how much damage he'd inflicted on Ginny by simply standing around, waiting. He could have had her by now, if only he'd gone in when they'd first arrived.

Harry exited and walked down the hall, his feet making a slight squeak on the polished floor. Why hadn't anyone come to find him? He'd clearly forced his way in, yet it had been so simple. Malfoy hadn't put up any resistance at all…there hadn't been any protective spells to prevent intruders either. It was almost as though Malfoy had wanted Harry there, had wanted to draw him into a trap.

Harry looked behind him, all the more alert. He made his way down a hallway lined with covered portraits which, from the sounds of it, were all sleeping. His wand light allowed him to see only a portion of what was ahead of him, light befalling curtained portraits. Their heavy hangings were a deep green –_everything about Malfoy screeches Slytherin_, Harry thought– and he curled his lip at the reminder of Mrs. Black's portrait which still hung in Grimmauld Place. Soon, he came to an empty antechamber with two large and open rooms on either side of it. One room, Harry could see, contained a billiards table and what looked like a bar. Harry scanned the room carefully, his glasses slipping down his nose. He was sweating and tense, ready hex the first thing that moved. The room seemed empty, however, and so he made his way to the next room which seemed just as vacant as the rest of the house. _Where are you hiding, Malfoy?_

Harry swallowed and gripped his wand tighter, making his way back down the short hall and into the main entranceway. The stairs to the next level were across the overly-polished floor. Harry could see his reflection in the marble as he hurried to them, all the while annoyed that Malfoy was living in such a house as this when he should have been rotting away in prison. _He deserves no less_.

He took the stairs two at a time, bounding his ascent. He was trying to look around him in all directions at once, his eyes scanning, searching; his ears strained to hear anything other than the sound of his own footfalls. The stairs curved at the top, and although he could not see the landing, he did not slow down. He turned the corner and, before he knew it, before he could even react, he was blasted backward by a magical force. His body hit the banister behind him painfully before he crumpled and rolled down two, then three, then four stairs. He was seeing stars; he was fighting to stay conscious. The angled corners of each step left an agonizing imprint of itself on his neck, his back, his face, as he fell down more steps. Finally getting some sense, he reached out to slow his descent and was lucky enough to catch hold of the rapidly moving banister rungs. He righted himself as quickly as he could; his wand arm having been wrapped oddly in his cloak so that he had to yank it free. He pointed his wand at the top of the stairs, which were now a good seven feet away.

But instead of meeting Malfoy or a Death Eater, he leveled his eyes on a very angry-looking house elf.

"You is not allowed here, sir!" said the elf in a very high, squeaky voice. "You is not welcome! Get OUT!"

Although Harry knew elves could be very dangerous when defending those they were loyal to, he lowered his wand a bit. "Where is your master?" Harry asked, "You can tell him I'm here to repay an old debt." He scanned his surroundings. _Malfoy was sure to have heard all that._

"Master is not here!" the elf replied, it's long, bony finger pointed dangerously at him. "Master is not coming back tonight."

Harry, of course, knew that house elves would say whatever they were commanded to, but for some reason, he believed its pronouncement. The manor did, indeed, seem empty. Something inside of him deflated slightly. He didn't know where Ginny was; he didn't know if he was even close to finding her.

In his momentary silence –ignoring the direct order from the elf to leave- he was blasted once more with a throbbing zap. He caught himself before he tumbled down the rest of the stairs, thankfully, on the handrail. _That bloody well __**hurt**__. _Holding in a groan, he glared at the house elf. He'd had quite enough of this.

"I says to get out and I means get out!"

Harry took a step toward the elf, his wand outstretched. "I'm looking for my wife," he said in a deadly calm voice. "You're precious master has stolen her. He's going to kill her."

The elf looked slightly alarmed at Harry's supposed resistance to its magic. Harry continued up the stairs, his eyes boring into the elf.

"You're going to tell me where your master went."

The elves ears fell slightly, its eyes narrowed.

Harry cast a shield charm just in time; the elf's silent sting hex bounced off smoothly and hit a portrait on the wall. The hole it left on the empty canvas was smoking.

The elf looked furiously at Harry. "You will leave now!" it said, and it charged.

Harry, ignoring its command, merely grabbed the elf by it's long ear and pulled forward. The elf toppled down the stairs and landed with a smack at the bottom.

Harry immediately froze the elf where it lay face up with a flick of his wrist; its little angry hands were balled into fists and its ugly teeth were bared. "Tell me where Malfoy went and I'll let you go," he said quietly, bending down on one knee. A pain shot up his knee, a residual effect from falling down the stairs, he was sure. "And I'll even forget that you just knocked me down the stairs. If not, I could always add your head to my collection on the wall." He meant it too. Serve the little bastard right.

"You is not welcome here!"

"Right," he said angrily, bringing his wand threateningly to the elf's neck.

"Tsk tsk." said a voice from somewhere behind him.

Harry whirled around, ready to throw a curse but saw no one there.

"Since when do noble Aurors terrorize helpless house elves?"

It was the portrait with the smoldering hole, but in it was someone very familiar to Harry: Phineas Nigellus. "You're not going to find what you're looking for here, Potter."

Harry strode quickly to the portrait. Phineas was leaning lazily against the frame, a smirk on his face. Harry had never hated him more at that moment. "Where's Malfoy?" he demanded.

"No idea," the portrait said with a shrug before examining his fingernails. Harry quickly lit his tip of his wand and held it to a corner of canvas, which got the provoking wizards attention.

"I'm in a bit of a hurry here," said Harry through his teeth. "If I were you, I'd hurry up and tell me what you know."

Phineas looked extremely galled that Harry would speak to him in such a manner. "You've always had a nasty temper, Potter. If I were you, I wouldn't shoot the messenger."

"Get on with it then!" Harry shouted, completely incensed. "What' message have you got for me?"

"Your wife," Phineas said slowly, "is just across the English Channel. If I were you, I wouldn't waste any more time."

Harry nearly doubled over in what felt like the beginnings of relief, but his temper swelled higher and drowned out any hopes he might have experienced. "Then this was all just a dead end trap!"

Phineas stared at Harry as he balled his fists tightly, fuming. "Dead ends are always such a waste of time, don't you think?"


	8. Chapter 8: Hedwig Brings News

Chapter 8: Hedwig Brings News

Third Day 6:00 AM

Arthur Weasley sat at his messy desk, a few stray paper aeroplanes swooping haphazardly over his head. When he'd finally arrived to his office, the ceiling seemed to be moving of its own accord, what with how many memos had been awaiting his attention. Once he'd finally sat down, they'd begun to pelt him with ferocious urgency. A few had even begun to smoke dangerously from having waited so long. But after several hours, a bottle of ink and a cramped hand, the data he was most eager to have arrived. Eric had finally sent up the information he'd requested with a small note attached: "If there's anything else you need, Arthur, just let me know." The said information happened to be several pages thick –a file– containing Mr. Faren Johnston's work history, leave requests, earnings and –much to Arthur's interest- reason for discharge.

Arthur rifled through the pages, quickly scanning the pages. Apparently Mr. Johnston had initially worked as a file clerk on the seventh level of the Ministry, which happened to be where the Auror's headquarters were found, as well as Arthur's own department. _That_ _explains where I've seen him before_, thought Arthur. Now that he reflected on it, he could remember moments where he'd seen Faren Johnston around the office. He had been an older gentleman, well spoken but quiet. Of course that had been several years ago –nearing three now, according the file- since he'd worked at the Ministry.

He flipped through Johnston's work history, eager to see where he'd gone after the Ministry. Arthur was shocked to find that he'd taken a rather substantial demotion to Custodian. _Why would he leave the Ministry File Clerk position to become a custodian?_ _Perhaps_, he reasoned_, Johnston had been upset with the management or maybe he just hadn't liked being a file clerk_? Certainly St. Mungo's –where he'd next worked—would have had clerical jobs available. That was, after all, his line of work. Arthur remembered back to what he'd read in the file room whilst looking for information on Glen Faulks. While he hadn't found any information on Mr. Faulks, his mind had been drawn to Faren's name. He'd been discharged for –Arthur shuffled to the correct page- "failure to perform duties." He'd been fired only ten days ago for not showing up to work.

Arthur ran a clammy hand through his thinning hair. Faren Johnston had worked in Ginny's department at St. Mungo's. He'd specifically requested that position, evidence of the copied employment application. And previously, he'd worked right in the thick of Auror headquarters. Information would have been easily accessible to him as a file clerk. He could have eavesdropped or read about the Ministry's plan for the Azkaban prisoners. He was a spy. Faren Johnston was responsible for Ginny's disappearance.

He couldn't believe it…he needed to tell Harry. He needed to inform Shacklebolt.

Tucking the file back into its large envelope and placing it securely under his arm, he rushed for Harry's desk. After the attack, all of the Aurors that had been assigned would have to report. Arthur knew from experience that Harry would be easy to locate: either in his office or in Shacklebolt's. He passed a few dozen Auror cubicles down the narrow aisles and turned the corner. He could see Harry's office up ahead, but upon entering, he ran smack into Tonks.

"Oi! Ouch!" the witch exclaimed, holding her nose.

"I'm very sorry, Tonks," said Arthur distractedly, offering her his handkerchief before bending to pick up the dropped envelope. "Are you all right?" He could plainly see that Harry wasn't in his office and so he wanted to hurry to Shacklebolt's.

Tonks nodded, gingerly touching her red nose. "Fine. In a hurry?"

"Yes…well, I'm looking for Harry. Is he in with Shacklebolt?"

Tonks shrugged noncommittally. "He's out in the field."

Arthur frowned. "But aren't you done gathering evidence? There should be a debriefing in-" he checked his watch- "well, five minutes ago."

Tonks looked uncomfortable, biting her lip. After what seemed to be much thought, she tugged on his arm, drawing him further into Harry's messy cubicle. "He didn't come back from the crime scene." She paused here, as though to gauge his reaction.

Arthur wasn't surprised. In fact, he didn't know why he hadn't just assumed Harry would have gone off to look for Ginny.

"I see," he said, shifting the file in his arms. "Did he say where he was going?"

Tonks looked over Arthur's shoulder, seeming to check to see if the coast was clear before speaking. "He went to the Malfoy Estate. Mr. Weasley, I'm glad I caught you. Harry, he…he says Ginny's gone missing."

Clearing his throat and straightening his glasses, he nodded. "Yes, she's been missing three days now." Arthur could feel his eyes burn and he blinked rapidly.

All of the color drained from Tonks' face. "It's not that I didn't believe him…I just—hearing it from you confirms—what do we do?"

"Harry didn't want to go to Shacklebolt but I think it's time we did."

Tonks nodded. "He's in his office."

They quickly exited and wound their way through the cubical maze to Shacklebolt's small office. Now that he'd been promoted, he was given an actual office with walls and door, but it had no magical window and it was even more cramped than his own. Piles of paperwork were stacked in an organized mess on his desk and along the walls. The large man looked up from his present occupation –signing his name to a piece of parchment- and acknowledged them briefly. "Arthur, Tonks," he said in his deep growl. "I assume you're here because of Harry."

Tonks and Arthur exchanged a significant look before Tonks responded. "You may have noticed Harry didn't come back from the Pincock murder scene."

"I did," he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "And the memo I just received from the Department of Magical Home Security says that the Malfoy Estate's wards have been breeched." He raised one eyebrow, looking from one to the other. "Do you think it's safe for me to assume that Harry has decided Mr. Malfoy is responsible for Miss Pincock's death?"

Arthur looked down at his hands and the large yellow envelope that he held. "I'd say that Harry has more than enough reason to think such a thing."

"Arthur," said Shacklebolt, leaning forward once more, "you and I both know that Harry has had it out for Mr. Malfoy ever since they were boys. This isn't the first time he's accused Mr. Malfoy of something, but I must admit this is the first time he's done something as stupid as this. Leaving without authorization, breaking and entering…I'm not sure what has come over him. Whatever it is, it cannot go without penalty. And," he added, looking at his watch, "he's got to be at a hearing in a few hours. I don't think I need to add the amount of trouble he'll be in if he doesn't show—"

"Uh," said Tonks, holding up a finger as if asking permission to speak. "He's asked me to tell you that he won't, in fact, be going to the hearing."

Shacklebolt shook his head grimly. "Then I have no choice but to put him on suspension. This is shows a gross error in Harry's judgment. I suppose these murders are bringing back a lot of past memories…." Shacklebolt steepled his fingers on his nose in thought. "I should have thought twice about bringing him in on these investigations."

"Harry's the best person for the job," countered Tonks.

"Yes, it would seem that Harry has a one track mind when it comes to Malfoy," said Arthur, bringing them back on track, "but I think that after you review our information, you'll agree that Harry has very good reason to suspect him."

Arthur opened the yellow envelope with a rustle and plopped the heavy file down on Shacklebolt's desk with a _thump_.

"What is it?" asked Kingsley, fingering the top page.

Arthur didn't explain, but decided, instead to get to the heart of the situation. "Listen Kingsley, my daughter has gone missing. She's been gone a total of three days now with no leads but one." The words seemed to spill from his mouth without thought; his hands tremored slightly with his earnestness.

Shacklebolt's eyes darted back and forth, reading the words in front of him. Arthur continued: "Harry didn't come to you because he didn't want to be taken from the case; I'll agree with you that that may have not been the best course of action, but what is done is done. Harry went to find Ginny. He—"

"He thinks she's being held against her will at the Malfoy Estate," interrupted Tonks emphatically. "I asked him to come to you but there was nothing for it! He's there right now and we should help him!"

The Head Auror shook his head. "I'm sorry. I cannot authorize anyone to help Harry." He put his hands up in supplication, "I'm sorry to hear about Ginny, but this should have been reported to me immediately. My hands are legally tied until a formal report is made. I can't do a single thing about it. Surely you understand that."

Tonks let out a sound like a deflating balloon. "You'll sit there and tell this man—" Tonks pointed at Arthur, her long finger poking at his cheek— "that you can't help find his daughter?"

Shacklebolt's eyebrows raised but his voice stayed calm. "I said nothing of the kind, Nymphadora." Tonks' face burned red. "I will help find Ginny, but I won't send someone barreling over to the Malfoy Estate, who, need I remind you both, hasn't been charged- to help Harry.

The Auror continued to peruse the file, his lips pursed in thought. Tonks and Arthur exchanged a dark look. He could feel his hands sweating and he tried to wipe them dry on his robes. He didn't think he could wait here while Shacklebolt read every page.

"So far this says nothing of Mr. Malfoy, Arthur," Kingsley stated.

"I'm aware of that. If you read further, however, you will find that a Mr. Faren Johnston, who was once employed as a file clerk on this level, left to work as a custodian at St. Mungo's. _Ginny_ works at St. Mungo's and has been working on a very sensitive case which would be of some interest to Malfoy. What if—I mean to say, I _think_ that there is a connection between Ginny's disappearance, Mr. Johnston, and Mr. Malfoy."

"And there may be more involved as well," offered Tonks. "Harry reckons Draco will have a handful of the old, suspected Death Eaters that were presumed innocent—"

"The charges were dropped for lack of evidence; we didn't just assume their innocence, Tonks. …Which you should remember quite plainly."

Tonks visibly swallowed her retort and continued with a steady voice: "Yes, I know, but you can't deny that just because we couldn't pin the crimes on them doesn't make them any less guilty.

Shacklebolt ignored this comment and addressed Arthur. "Why are you so certain that Mr. Johnston and Mr. Malfoy are connected to Ginny's abduction?"

Arthur swallowed. He was getting deeper and deeper into this but Ginny was all that mattered now. He should have done this first thing three days ago, consequences be damned. "My daughter was working with the Ministry on a potion." Arthur paused, ignoring the trepidation he felt. "It is highly sensitive and only a few people know of its existence. The only reason I know about it is because of my position here. I'm privy to many things that would never normally reach my ears. Harry let it slip in his heightened state of, well…panic, and now has a hearing scheduled."

Something in Shacklebolt's face gave way to sudden understanding and he immediately turned in his chair, opened a drawer and fumbled through a large assortment of crisp papers.

Arthur continued, eyeing the Auror. "This secret will have powerful significance to Mr. Malfoy and many others who were sympathetic to Lord Voldemort's purpose because it involves the prisoners held in Azkaban. The Pincock murders took place tonight for a reason. Ginny's purpose must have been fulfilled. Kingsley…if we don't do something now, she'll die."

Shacklebolt didn't seem to be listening. He pulled a folded piece of parchment from his desk and scanned it quickly. Arthur could see that it had the Hogwart's Crest emblazoned in black above heavy red script.

"I received this a few days ago and put it aside, as I had no further information to go on. It didn't make much sense until now."

"Is that from McGonagall?" asked Tonks, leaning forward to read.

He nodded, handing the parchment to Arthur. Tonks immediately moved to read over his shoulder.

_Dear Kingsley,_

_I've just received the most cryptic message from Phineas Nigellus, who claims to have heard rumors amongst the portraits that there has been a capture and even suggestion of Death Eater activity. I wish I had more information for you, but, regrettably, all Phineas seems to know is that the said person is being held is in France. I felt it was my duty to inform you, even if it is vastly vague. _

_I do hope these are simply rumors and nothing to worry over._

_M. McGonagall_

Arthur read the word "France" twice. It was a lead, but it wasn't quite good enough. _Where_ in France.

"Who do we know in France that has Death Eater ties?" Tonks thought aloud.

"There were a number of the French that supported Voldemort. I'll pull their files." Shacklebolt swiveled in his chair and tapped a small, gray filing cabinet. The top drawer slid out, revealing crammed and crinkled papers. "They're all organized by their crimes. This entire top drawer is comprised of accused Death Eaters from the second war, all of which we could not attach guilt."

"You mean all those names –those people- are all just like Malfoy? We know they're guilty but we can't prove it?" said Tonks, looking angry.

Shacklebolt gave Tonks a grim look and then pulled several files.

We've got the Roux sisters, Philippe Depaul, Bernard Benoit, Cassandra Bouvier…"

"How many of them are there?" Tonks demanded.

"Thirty? Forty? At least of the Frenchies…." Shacklebolt turned around again and pulled an armful of files from the drawer.

Suddenly there came a knock, though the door was open. All three turned to see a much disheveled Martha, Arthur's personal assistant, at the door. "Pardon the intrusion, sir, but you've got a very determined owl in your office. It won't give me the parchment and it's very insistent that the note be taken."

Third Day 6:00 AM

Ginny took a deep, steadying breath and shut her eyes tight. _There are only two of them_. Her hand shook as she found the iron ring that would open the door. It was cool and rusted but made no sound at her touch. She could hear their muffled voices through the thick oaken door; their jeering caused Cindy to lash out somehow, though Ginny wasn't sure what she had done. Whatever had happened, the two men thought it uproariously funny.

"Look at 'er!" said one, laughing stupidly. "You going to hit me, girly?"

"Nah," said the second, "she's just gonna cry. Sodding waste of skin, she is."

Whatever nervousness Ginny had felt vanished upon hearing Cindy's stifled sobs. Not even realizing she was doing it, she tugged mightily on the handle, threw the door open and took aim.

The man on the right, short and bearded, turned first, a surprised look on his face; Ginny caught him squarely in the chest with her curse. Falling heavily, his wand rolled across the uneven stones and stopped near Cindy's slippered feet. Ginny took aim at the second man, but he dodged her hex easily, his steely eyes boring into her.

"Think yer getting away, do ya? Think yer brave?"

"Stupefy!"

Her curse bounced off his conjured shield and was absorbed into the wall. He smiled at her, his teeth bared. "S'at yer best? Hogwart's finest?"

"Rictusempra!" she screamed, though it too was ineffective.

He moved quickly to the right, his wand outstretched. "Crucio!"

Ginny was quick enough to shield herself, though just barely. The shield ingested the curse and immediately dissipated.

"Expelliamus! Stupefy!"

"Cruc-"

Cindy, in her befuddled state, had figured out enough to realize that helping Ginny was in her best interest. As their common enemy crossed Cindy's path, she'd reached out a pasty white leg and had tripped him, making Ginny's aim true at last.

"Levicorpus! Stupefy!"

There he hung, his useless arms dangling toward the stone floor, his wand on the ground. Ginny almost couldn't believe it. Her breath came in quick gasps, her arms and legs felt like jelly. Trembling, she met Cindy's eyes. "Thank you," she said. Cindy looked away.

Ginny picked up the floating Death Eater's wand and, in a stroke of fierce spite, broke it in two and then tossed it to the side. "Are you hurt?" she asked, wiping her brow with her sleeve.

Cindy shook her head, looking uncertain. "Where are we?"

"We're in the depths of a wizard's house. We need to leave as soon as possible." Offering Cindy a hand –which the woman reluctantly took– she helped her friend to her feet. Ginny picked up the other wizard's wand that had rolled to the side and shoved it in Cindy's hand. The woman seemed confused by the polished piece of wood.

"Did you say wizard?"

If the circumstances had been different, Ginny might have laughed at that. "Yes…yes, a wizard. A rather nasty one at that. We don't have much time; you'll need to follow me as silently as possible. Make no sound. Do you understand?"

Cindy's brow furrowed. "Why is the wizard nasty?"

"He just is," she said quickly opening the door a crack and looking out. She neither saw nor heard anyone. "Do you think you can be quiet?"

Cindy nodded, looking over the two bodies. "Are these fellows wizards as well?"

"Yes," Ginny said as patiently as she could, motioning for the woman to follow. "Bad ones, if you haven't figured that out yet." Ginny's annoyance for this woman seemed to never end.

Ginny opened the door fully and crept out into the hallway; Cindy followed, holding the foreign wand betwixt her thumbs and forefingers. She looked lost and completely bewildered, though Ginny couldn't blame her.

"Here, hold it like this."

"How do you tell a good wizard from a bad one?"

Ginny grasped Cindy's elbow and led her along the dark corridor. "That's a good question," she whispered. "If I try and hex one, you can bet he's not on our side."

Cindy nodded, committing it to memory.

"Remember, we have to be completely silent."

"What's a hex?"

Ginny hesitated before moving. "It's a curse; a way wizards fight. Look, just stay behind me and be quiet."

The labyrinth that lay before them would be difficult to traverse; all the hallways looked alike and they twisted and turned so much that Ginny had already forgotten the way back to the stairwell. Ginny chose to turn right when they came to a crossway, Cindy following.

"Where are we—"

"Shush."

Left, then straight, then right…. Ginny's heart lifted at the sight of one of her arrows and she quickened her pace toward it. It had started fade and Ginny's urgency doubled. Soon they'd all be gone.

"What's that?" Cindy asked, pointing at the winking arrow.

"I put arrows down to help find—"

Ginny had thought she'd heard voices. She stopped in her tracks, listening hard; Cindy bumped right into her.

"Oops," she laughed nervously.

"Shush!"

Sure enough, she heard the distant echo of voices coming from the path straight ahead. She met Cindy's eyes; they were round and concerned. "Is someone coming?" she mouthed.

Ginny nodded, quickly moving down the corridor to the right. Cindy followed her to one of the doors; it creaked as she opened it and Ginny cringed. "Silencio." she whispered and they both entered. Now they could only sit and wait. Neither said a word; Ginny doused her wand so they could no longer see in the tiny room. It was mostly bare with some moldy straw in the corner. Ginny silently wondered if someone had been held captive here.

They waited several minutes, their breathing the only sound._ If they heard the door creak, they'll be sure to find us_. Ginny waited a little longer, her palms sweating._ They'll find us if we stay here much longer_. Deciding that now was the time to move, Ginny lit her wand and met Cindy's scared face. "We have to move; we can't stay here."

Cindy looked anxious but nodded.

"Again, follow me and you _cannot_ speak. Is that clear?"

"Yes...clear."

Ginny put her ear to the door and couldn't hear a thing. _What I wouldn't give for some of Fred and George's Extendable Ears._

Ginny extinguished her wand and opened the door silently.

Looking both ways, Ginny blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the sudden darkness. Her red arrow was their only light. They'd have to move-and fast. Whoever had come down the corridor had to have found their comrades Stunned by now. She moved forward but stopped suddenly. Someone was coming. She could hear a set of footsteps moving somewhere ahead of them. Their only choice was to move backwards, the way they had come. Fumbling for Cindy's hand, she pulled the woman behind her, feeling her way along the wall with her wand hand. There was a wand light behind them now and quickened steps.

"Stop! Stupefy!"

Cindy slumped against Ginny and then fell to the floor.

"I've found her!" one of the voices said.

Ginny stepped over Cindy's body, her own tense and ready to fight.

Arthur rushed for his office, five floors below the Auror headquarters. Everything seemed to take twice as long. People suddenly seemed to flood the hallways and jam up the elevators. Arthur's usually "excuse me's" and "pardon me's" were forgotten He waited in the queue for about ten seconds, bobbing on the balls of his feet, before bolting for the stairs. Waiting seemed impossible at this point. What if the note was from Harry or from home; or more importantly, from Ginny, though he didn't want to dare to hope. Martha followed behind him in a full on jog. "Also, Mr. Weasley, I've received some…correspondence…from…Mr. Dewitt regarding…the meeting scheduled for…tomorrow…."

Arthur wasn't listening.

Finally he reached the second floor and, after some twisting hallways, they arrived at his office. Arthur opened his door and saw Hedwig hopping along his desk with apparent nervous energy.

When she saw him she let out a loud screech and held out her leg, still hopping on the other. Arthur quickly took the wadded parchment from her talon and flattened it out on his desk. It was sodden and faded, but he could make out the newsprint and, to his relief and astonishment, his daughter's handwriting:

_France._

_Lestrange._

_Find me._


	9. Chapter 9: In With The Dead

CHAPTER 9

Third Day 6:30 AM

Harry's mind was going a mile a minute. i_France? Where in France? Why would Malfoy take her there and who was helping him?/i_ Harry could only think of one French name with any real personal significance and the thought made him burn.

"Lestrange." Harry said the name with such distain that the flame from his wand, which was still poised at the corner of Phineas' portrait, burned brighter. He hated the name almost as much as he hated Malfoy. Beatrix had cost him Sirius. And she had cost Neville his parents. Harry understood that pain well.

"It's Lestrange, isn't it?" Harry demanded.

Phineas eyed the close proximity of Harry's wand before leveling him with a cold stare. "Yes, Mr. Potter, Lestrange."

Harry felt a sudden surge of exhilaration; hope seemed to vibrate within him, but it was mingled with the poison of worry. Lestrange was just as bad as Malfoy. Lestrange had lost family and he was no doubt on a revenge warpath like Malfoy. Indeed, Rabastan Lestrange was the ideal candidate for Malfoy's plot to break out the old Death Eaters from Azkaban and Harry was certain that he was equally as dangerous Draco Malfoy. Harry's worry for Ginny redoubled, he wanted to move, and fast. He needed action. "Is she safe? Is she hurt?"

"Mr. Potter, you will remove your wand from my frame." Phineas' expectant eyes seemed to bore into Harry and he knew that if was to get any more information from the stubborn old headmaster he would have to cooperate. Or at least not threaten to burn him.

Harry let his wand arm drop a few inches but he did not pocket it. He was still in enemy territory and there was no telling how long the house elf would remain frozen at the bottom of the stairs. The last thing Harry needed was more delays.

"Better," said Phineas. Harry could feel his cheeks burn with annoyance but he swallowed his retort and instead, repeated his questions.

Phineas seemed to be seeing something that Harry couldn't, for his painted eyes had a sudden far-away quality to them, and Harry found himself wishing he could read the painting's thoughts, though he doubted if that were even possible.

"I heard two days ago a murmur amongst the other portraits that a number of persons were being held captive," said Phineas, beginning to pace inside his frame. "I heard one, two and as many as five were being held against their will. Of course we both know about rumors and how they can be misguided. I didn't know who they were or where they were being held…some said they were being held in the Ministry's Magical Artifacts and Practical History Museum, which made little sense, while others claimed they were being held for questioning at the Muggle Liaison Office in Germany. Again, unlikely. I mistook the rumors for just that…but it took me quite by surprise to realize just a few hours ago, while I was visiting my portrait in the Lestrange's home, to see the Weasley girl there. Though she's grown into a woman since I've last seen her, I recognized her immediately."

Harry swallowed, barely breathing. He had a thousand questions all waiting to burst from him, but first: "How did you find her? Was she...was she hurt at all?" Harry swallowed, his throat dry. He didn't remove his eyes from the old headmaster's pasty face.

Phineas shook his head. "Not that I could see. When I saw her, she was being walked to the kitchen for food."

Harry's knees felt weak. A sudden but unsatisfying relief washed over him and he felt his eyes burn. She was alive. She was walking. She was being fed. He blinked hard and asked, "Where in France do the Lestrange's live, Phineas?"

Phineas raised an eyebrow. "'Sir,' will do nicely, Mr. Potter. I do not pretend to be so comfortable with you as to use first names."

Harry had to bite his cheek to keep from shouting. He released a long breath through his nostrils before trying again. "I don't have time for this. Where can I find my wife? …Sir."

Phineas pursed his lips in apparent consideration before answering. "In Calais, or more accurately, a wizarding village called Notre Propre."

Harry frantically searched his memory. He wasn't sure where that was. "I'm not familiar with French geography."

"Why doesn't that surprise me? I remember what a dismal student you-"

"Enough!" Harry was done with Phineas and he had had a sudden idea come blazing into his mind. "Does the house have a name? Do they call it something?"

Phineas seemed taken aback at the question, and no doubt by his rude tone.

"I've heard some use the term 'De Vie' when speaking of the estate, but-."

Harry abruptly ran from the large hallway and retraced his steps back to the second room he'd searched. In that room he'd noticed a large fireplace. Harry knew that the Malfoy and Lestrange fires would be connected. He knew that if he simply said "De Vie" into the sparkling flames, he would be transported easily and perfectly into the middle of the lion's den. He knew he would find Ginny and he knew that when he found Malfoy and Rabastan Lestrange he would kill them both.

Third Day 6:45 AM

Ginny's heart was pounding so furiously against her ribs that it hurt. She glanced quickly away from the wand leveled between her eyes to chance a look at Cindy. She lay stunned, sprawled out on the ground at her feet. She seemed peaceful, asleep, and Ginny wondered if she would look any different when she were dead, for she knew that's exactly what lay in both their futures.

"Don't move a muscle, girly, or I'll blast a hole right through your skull. I mean it, too. I don't care how special some think you are."

He was rather short, with mean, black eyes. Ginny could see freckles wink in and out of focus on his nose and cheeks in the weak light. She did not recognize him.

"Accio." With a slight twitch of his wand he claimed her stolen one. "Geoffrey will be happy to have this back, I think, "he said, pocketing it smoothly.

Ginny's mind raced. She knew if she did not escape, here and now, she would die. She frantically searched her mind, trying to remember those self defense classes Harry had insisted she take, but they seemed ages ago. She could not remember even the most basic defenses and without a wand, she felt devoid of even the smallest means of protection.

The man roughly pushed her against the wall, her face squelching silently on the slime-covered stone. He grabbed her wrists and bound them together magically. Ginny's breath caught and she was surprised to feel her eyes burn with tears. i_Find me, Harry. Come and find me./i _She did not want to admit it to herself, but for the first time in her life she doubted if Harry could save her. There were some things that he couldn't fix, but she was afraid to examine her doubt further. He didn't know where she was. He had nothing to go on. But regardless of the seemingly insurmountable odds, she stubbornly held onto the image of a young boy helping her off the floor in the Chamber of Secrets. She hadn't thought being saved was possible then, either.

Ginny heard, rather than saw the man levitate Cindy's body before he pushed her forward. Ginny shuffled along the wall, the man's wand tip digging into the back of her neck. They walked for several minutes before she heard more people approaching, and her unsteady heart seemed to fail her. She recognized Malfoy's voice and could hear the wet cough of Geoffrey.

They turned the corner and she could see in the weak light, Draco's silver hair glisten as they neared. There were more of them than she had anticipated. Geoffrey was there, yes, but so were Faren, Rabastan, and two others she recognized from earlier –the men she'd fought to win Cindy's freedom, not that they'd gotten very far. Malfoy was leading the group and she could see him carefully fitting his spindly, white hands with black leather gloves. He stopped before her, flexing his hands, before meeting her gaze. Geoffrey coughed and spit near the wall. He glared meaningfully at Ginny. The man behind her withdrew the stolen wand and returned it to Geoffrey. He stepped forward to retrieve it, and when he did, he smiled down at her, his mouth bloody; he was missing three teeth. The sight made Ginny feel oddly proud.

"I told you what would happen if you disobeyed. I thought we had an understanding," said Draco, his steely eyes serious.

He seemed very calm, which only served to scare her more. She could feel her body shaking but her only response was to jut out her chin defiantly. If she died, at least she would have died knowing that she hadn't betrayed her family, her friends, her world. She hadn't completed the draught. She'd fought to escape and to save Cindy. What did it matter if she died when she would save so many others from a world of hate –hate that seemed to emanate from the men surrounding her?

"We'll use that room," Malfoy said, nodding toward the door behind her. Faren quickly moved past her to open the door. The hinges grated noisily and the old man had to tug at the door several times to open it fully.

Ginny was shuffled into the stuffy, earthen room. She tried to catch Faren's eye as she passed him, in hopes that he would have some amount of mercy, however small, as he had seemed to show earlier, but he did not meet her eyes and then the moment was gone as she was pushed further into the dark space. The room was bare except for a pallet of moldy straw in the center of the room. The ceiling was low and she noticed that the taller men, like Geoffrey, had to stoop to enter. She hoped that Harry would kill him after this was all over. Hopefully Geoffrey would be stupid enough to brag about what he'd done and Harry would come looking for him. She allowed herself to imagine what Harry would do to him, how he'd wipe that stupid, unnatural grin off his ugly face. Maybe he'd knock more teeth from his head.

"Put the other one in the middle," Draco instructed and the man at her back levitated Cindy through the door, her limbs dangling oddly.

"Wake her," Draco said, as he fished out his own wand.

Ginny's swallowed heavily and clenched her jaw. The dread she felt increased a hundred fold. She wasn't sure exactly how it would happen, but she knew their intent was to hurt and hurt some more. Maybe kill. She knew what Malfoy had done in the past, and it was almost always bloody.

"Ennervate!"

Cindy lay still, but Ginny could see her eyes blink open and closed.

Draco leveled his wand at Cindy and she stared glassily back at him. She seemed so childish, so helpless.

"Are you a bad wizard?" Cindy asked in a timid voice?

The chorus of laughter that erupted filled the room. She could almost feel the noise vibrate through her, but her eyes were solely on Draco. A slow smile started at one corner of his thin mouth; he looked pleased. Cindy sat up, though she looked leery.

"What an excellent question," he said, and the laughter died immediately. "I would imagine some would call me 'bad'; maybe even…evil." He started to walk a slow circle around Cindy, smiling benignly at her. "But," he said, holding up a finger for emphasis, "those same souls that point their accusing finger at me, those wizards and witches that so easily place blame on others like me, they are no more guilty than I."

Malfoy's sudden role of guiding teacher made Ginny's insides boil with anger. She didn't want to listen to his lies, his justifications. He was Tom. He was the honeyed serpent feeding the innocent full of distorted versions of the truth. "Don't listen to him Cindy!" Ginny pleaded. "He i_is/i_ a bad wizard!"

The man who had caught Ginny and Cindy in the hallway grabbed Ginny's arm to shake her roughly and then he shoved the point of his wand painfully into her neck. "Shut your filthy mouth, Mudblood lover!"

"Now, now," Malfoy said calmly. "No need for name calling." Malfoy stopped pacing in the room and, instead, crouched close to Cindy, so as to look directly into her large, questioning eyes.

"I'd like to tell you a story, Cindy. Would you like that?" he smiled at her softly and she smiled uncertainly back.

"Once upon a time there was a boy who loved his father and mother very much. Do you love your family, Cindy? Oh," he laughed softly, "I suppose you don't remember them now. Well, I suppose it doesn't matter. Like I was saying, once there was a boy that loved his parents so much that he would do anything for them. They raised him to be proud of who he was and where he came from. They taught him about loyalty and cleverness and bonds that should not be broken. Bit by bit, their lives were complicated by other people who did not take pride in themselves or in their pasts. They conceded their loyalties to family and blood for the obscene and debase. Do you know what it's like, Cindy, to see all the good things in life cast to the wayside? Do you know how it feels to watch your parents' noble work to keep hold of the old ways –the right ways of wizards- to watch it crumble? To see it ignored?"

The wand poking into Ginny's neck forced her to turn her head, but she didn't want to look at Malfoy anyway. She didn't want to see the sincerity on his pitiful face, or see the mindless Cindy lap it up. It sickened her more than anything she had previously encountered at the estate. She wanted to scream and rage at his bigotry. She hated him; she hated his crooked, sick fanaticism that had corrupted so many under Voldemort's short reign. She could hear her own breathing grow louder and could feel the ache from her clenched jaw as Malfoy continued, and she knew that this little narrative was for her; he was trying to provoke her. He continued:

"After some time, people who felt the same joined together to unite the world and remind them of the true way of wizards. And you do you know what happened to them, Cindy?"

She shook her head ever so slightly, her eyes never leaving his face.

"They murdered them in the name of tolerance. And those that they didn't kill, they cast into prison to rot. My poor, noble parents are rotting away as we speak, all because they stood up for what was right. I intend to get free them, but do you know who is trying to stop me, Cindy?"

Again, she shook her head, engrossed in the story.

Malfoy stood and turned to look at Ginny. Cindy's eyes followed and fell on Ginny. The man holding Ginny took the wand from her neck. The immediate relief she felt was short lived. Cindy looked as though she had bought his lies. Ginny could see Cindy's eyes narrow ever so slightly; her body language had changed as well. She was no longer cowering and timid, but sitting straighter and leveling Ginny with a disapproving frown.

"This woman here," said Malfoy, "doesn't want me to see my parents again. She wants them to stay in prison for simply being loyal to their bloodlines. So who do you think is the bad wizard here, Cindy?" He turned to her, his blond brow raised in a question, "Me or iher/i?

Cindy's mouth opened but no sound came out. She tried again, her throat rasping, "Your story is very sad."

Ginny shut her eyes against the situation. She couldn't stand to look at her, at any of them.

"Yes, yes it is, Cindy. I'm glad you agree." Malfoy gazed at Ginny but she couldn't tell what he was thinking, and then he turned his back to her. "The story doesn't end here, though. Sadly, I'm forced to retaliate against ibad/i people like you and your friend.

Cindy looked confused. "But I'm not bad!"

"Oh, but you i_are/i_. If your friend, here, hadn't broken the rules; if you two hadn't tried to escape, if she had helped me like I asked her to, none of this would have to happen."

Cindy looked at Malfoy, a question in her eyes, and then she let her gaze drop to the wand that he directed over her heart.

"Ginny, tell Cindy you're sorry for making me do this."

Sudden, hot tears fell from Ginny's eyes and she shook her head roughly. "I iam/i sorry, but I'm not to blame.

Malfoy tutted. "Liar. Crucio."

Cindy's body contorted horribly; her scream rang in Ginny's ears. And Ginny screamed with her.

Third Day 6:45 AM

Arthur Weasley's heart all but stopped. It took him several seconds for him to regain his voice. Hedwig flew frantically around the room, screeching for action.

"Martha," Arthur said, clearing his throat. "I need you to contact Molly for me. Immediately. No…wait," he said, thinking quickly. He rounded his desk and shuffled through his top drawer, locating a piece of parchment and a quill. He glanced at Martha. She looked bewildered and worried as she wrung her handkerchief in her hands. He dipped his quill in ink and chewed his lip nervously. "There has been a family emergency," he explained to his secretary. "I won't be staying for work today."

She nodded frantically, her eyes wide. "Yes, yes of course. I'll…push all your meetings to tomorrow."

Arthur nodded, finishing his note. "Yes. Good."

Hedwig landed near the parchment, ready for a job. The bird's clicking beak seemed to echo his jumping nerves. Arthur rolled up the parchment and was about to reach for Hedwig to tie his note to her leg when she abruptly snatched it from him and flung herself through the open window.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Weasley?" she asked as he donned his cloak.

"Yes, get my son, Ron on the Floo, please, Martha."

"Of course."

A few seconds later, Arthur knelt before the fire and stuck his face in the tickling Floo flames. "Ron! It's Dad!"

He could hear quick footfalls and then Hermione's face came into view. "Ron's coming, Arthur. Is everything ok?"

Arthur responded by sticking his hand through the network to show her the newspaper Hedwig had brought him. "There have been some developments." Hermione's eyes widened as she read the parchment and she met Arthur's gaze. "Lestrange?"

"Hey, Dad," said Ron. He looked nervous as he knelt next to Hermione on their kitchen rug. Arthur watched as Hermione handed him the note from Ginny. His ears turned a dark shade of pink and his face hardened noticeably. "Right. I'll just get my cloak, then."

Third Day 7:00 AM

Harry stepped from the last vestiges of the swirling ashes and onto a hard, wooden floor into the Lestrange manor. The room was dark and empty. High, arched windows let in the weak dawn; a heavy fog pressed against the windows. Harry scanned the room, listening intently for any sound. He walked briskly yet silently to the door and pressed his ear against it, magically magnifying any sounds that might come from the other side. When he heard none, he quickly Disillusioned himself and opened the door to a long and ornate hallway. Harry scanned his surroundings, ready for a fight. He noted the dozen or so doors that lined the hallway. They were heavy and solid. They would have finery on the other side, not a potions laboratory or a prison cell. Then again, Phineas Nigellus had said that she was being fed, maybe even treated fairly. Perhaps she wouldn't be in a dungeon like he had envisioned.

He heard a sudden running and heavy panting and whirled around. A man in a brown cloak rounded the corner but did not see Harry. He watched as the man jogged to an empty expanse of wall and tapped his wand to it, eliciting a sucking sound and a click. Harry wasted no time in dropping him to the floor. He fell like a rock and did not move. Harry walked to the man and kicked him over onto his back. He didn't recognize the man's face, but he was certain that he would be one of the hundreds of persons that claimed to have been controlled by the Imperius Curse during the war. Harry quickly and quietly opened the nearest door and, finding the room empty, roughly rolled the man into the room and locked him inside. It would do no good to broadcast that he was there. The element of surprise was still on his side.

Just as Harry turned to look at the secret panel in the wall, the house shook violently. A loud i_bang/i_ reverberated through the hallway; the chandeliers swung above his head, casting long shadows on the walls. Harry crouched and waited, listening. He heard muffled shouts and made his decision fast. He ran to the end of the hallway and peered around the corner, wand ready to strike the first thing that moved. To the left was a large and lavish room with an oversized portrait above an empty fireplace. Looking down at him from the portrait was Phineas Nigellus. He stood behind the high-backed chair that was painted into the picture, with a rather bored look on his face.

"I think someone has decided to enter the house without being invited," he said. Harry followed his gaze to the other side of the room where an open entryway was located and made his way toward it.

He looked back at Phineas but he had apparently decided to move on, for he was no longer in the portrait.

Harry carefully examined the next room. The marble floor was reflected in the glass walls and roof. Potted plants had been placed strategically around the antechamber, but before Harry had a chance to clear the room, he heard a very familiar voice that brought a flood of relief to his tightly wound body.

"So much for sneaking in. Bloody hell."

Harry ran through the adjacent door and found Ron, covered in plaster dust, and his father-in-law, similarly dusted in white.

"Harry!" Ron looked just as relieved as Harry felt. He was glad his old friend would be by his side for this. It was fitting.

After the curse was lifted, Cindy whimpered softly on the floor. Ginny wanted to go to her, but there was no way for her to comfort the woman, as her hands were still magically bound behind her back and she knew if she moved she would be cursed. Some part of Ginny agreed with what Malfoy had said: she was at fault. If only she and Cindy had hid a bit longer, or perhaps if she'd hid the bodies of those men she might have gained more time. Perhaps if she'd listened to Harry and had been more careful that night, she wouldn't have been kidnapped in the first place. iOh, Harry. I'm sorry. /i

All eyes were now on Ginny.

"Are you ready to comply, Mrs. Potter? Or should I curse her again?"

Ginny's chin trembled and she had to clamp down to keep it from showing. She didn't know what to do. If she complied, Malfoy would win. He would use her potion to set all the Death Eaters free and the war would start all over again. She didn't want to undo all that they'd accomplished, but she didn't want to kill Cindy. For if she refused, she knew without a shadow of a doubt, that they would kill her. She didn't think she could condemn her coworker to death. But she also knew that she couldn't set loose evil incarnate on the world. Not again, after all they'd done to rebuild their lives. Ginny had no choice.

"You may as well kill me, Malfoy. I won't make the Draught." She tried to sound brave, but she felt horribly afraid and weak.

"Crucio!" Malfoy cried, and Ginny forgot to breathe. Indescribable pain wracked her frame. Her dry throat tore with her scream and her body wrapped in upon itself. But as soon as it had started, the curse stopped. A rumble ran through the walls and she looked up from where she lay on the ground to see everyone's faces uplifted. She couldn't hear. There was a ringing that drowned out all other sound. She watched as four of the six suddenly ran noiselessly from the room. Malfoy shouted at her, though she had no idea of what he'd said. The only other man left was Geoffrey and Ginny watched as he grabbed her leg and drug her roughly from the small room. Her head bounced off the door jamb and Ginny cringed.

Malfoy was pulling Ginny up off the ground. He shouted in her face; she could feel his spittle hit her and she turned her face away. He was pushing her through the door. She could see Geoffrey up ahead dragging Cindy around a corner and out of sight. Bits of words and sound started to filter through to her brain. "Go…-ove…-ow!"

Malfoy grabbed her by the hair and pulled her forward. She lost her footing and fell right onto Malfoy. They both tumbled to the ground and in his momentary surprise, Ginny kneed Malfoy as hard as she could without thought. He rolled to his side and Ginny could see that he had miraculously dropped his wand. Her hands were helplessly bound but she rolled and scooted as fast as she could until she'd maneuvered herself on top of his dropped wand. Ginny quickly grabbed the wand and rolled back onto her knees. Malfoy was righting himself; he was also on his knees, but unaware that she had his wand. Ginny stood as fast as she could and aimed a swift kick to his ribs. Malfoy grunted in pain and he fell to the ground.

Ginny ran as fast as she could, she could hear her feet slap on the cold, hard ground. She could hear Malfoy call out and she knew that he was scrambling after her. She had to lose him, and fast. Ginny muttered an incantation to free her wrists and then picked up her pace. She ran blindly through the twisting hallways -left, right, right, straight, left, straight, right- and then found herself at a dead end. She recognized the door in front of her. Its elegantly twined tree branches glistened in the weak light. She didn't want to go into that room again. She would have to turn around. But just as she turned, she knew she would have to turn back. She could hear Malfoy's raging cry not far away.

Ginny turned, Malfoy's wand heavy in her hand, and slipped through the door and in with the dead.


	10. Chapter 10: The Hidden Door

CHAPTER 10: The Hidden Door

Ginny shut the door quickly and magically sealed it, trying desperately to control her breathing. She did not want to breathe in the stale, musty air. Malfoy was without a wand, but Ginny didn't doubt he'd get one soon enough and come after her.

The room was dark, save her wand and a bluish flame near the door that sputtered and danced. Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs as she warily maneuvered down the narrow aisles that had been formed by staggered tombs and alters, forcibly averting her gaze from the encircling dead. The guttering flame made the curled and blackened hand of a nearby body, which was laying atop an alter, come to life in shadow on the ground in front of her. She caught a cry of surprise in her throat and ignored the strong impulse she had to look over her shoulder. Ginny felt like she was being watched; her heart felt as though it would burst from her chest. She could swear she saw something move out of the corner of her eye and she quickly brandished her lit wand in its direction. She saw nothing, however, but a large marble tomb, dusted over with cobwebs.

The damp earth and the smell of decay reminded her forcefully of her first year at Hogwarts, when Tom had lured her into the Chamber of Secrets. Long ago, as a young girl, she had learned to fear dark, damp places. And while the Chamber of Secrets had only held animal bones, Ginny felt transported back in time to when she was weak and panicked and could only rely on the help of others. Ginny screwed her eyes shut and shook her head. i"Help came then and it will come again."/i

Letting out a calming breath, she took a step forward and then another, holding her cloak tightly against her. The stolen wand in her hand shook as she eventually came to a dead-end. Resting in front of her and shrouded with gauze, were bodies –nothing but bones now- stacked within stone shelves in the wall. She had to hide. She couldn't stay here. She would have to turn around and take another path, one that would allow her better shelter from Malfoy's gaze. As though on cue. She heard a reverberating iBOOM/i as someone –she was sure it would be Malfoy- tried to force their way in to the catacomb. Ginny's heart leapt into her throat and she scrambled back the way she had come to find a hiding place. iBOOM! BOOM!/i

This room seemed deeper than the previous one, though she could not see past the darkness a mere ten yards away; Ginny reasoned that she could quite possibly stay hidden even if the room were searched. Turning down a different aisle and, with renewed urgency from her pursuer being so close, she was able to make a difficult choice. She spotted a cracked, white marble tomb to her right that would serve as a hiding place. It was as good a place as any and the vacant, decayed body that she knew lay within, could not hurt her. Malfoy was a much more dangerous and real threat.

But even as Ginny approached the ruined burial place of some long-ago Lestarange, her courage began to waiver. Could she share a small, shallow space with bones? Could she actually force herself to lay beside or under a wasted shell of a person? i"You must"i Ginny told herself, but the thought did little to spur her onward; she could not help her hand from shaking as she lifted the purloined wand. iBOOM!/i

As quickly as she could, and without thinking, Ginny levitated the lid of the casket. The marble scraped eerily as it lifted. Slowly the contents of the tomb were revealed. Ginny looked in on the once-fine robes of a witch, now rotted away to nothing but rags. Ginny knew it was a witch only because of the tarnished tiara that had once been placed upon her head. It had since slid off her skull and now lay upside-down near where her left ear should have been. Ginny doused the wand and forced herself to take shallow breaths through her mouth. i"Nothing but bones. Nothing there." /i And with a resolve only a Gryffindor could have, she scrambled in with the dead witch, trying without success to keep from touching her. Ginny lay against the cold marble and the lifeless body, covered her mouth with her cloak, and then lowered the lid. The ithunk/i it made as it rested against its mate, seemed all too final.

Harry was relived to find Ron and Arthur with him. It would make searching the house much easier. With three of them, they were sure to find Ginny quickly; Harry was relieved.

"How did you know?" Harry asked.

"Hedwig" was all Ron replied and Harry didn't feel the need to ask more questions. Hedwig was a curious bird and there would be time to talk it over later. Now was the time for action.

"Forcing our way in here may have consequences with the French authorities," Arthur added. "This old estate could very likely have security spells that, once breeched, contacts the French MLES. We need to move fast."

Ron nodded his agreement, his face grim. "What have you seen so far, Harry?"

Harry quickly related what he'd seen about the hidden door in the wall. "That's been the only wizard I've seen so far. It's too quiet. Something must have gone wrong. Maybe she's—" Harry faltered, unable to continue.

"She's alive." Ron said firmly. "She's in here somewhere and we'll find her."

Harry, who as an Auror had learned to largely separate himself from his cases, had felt an unnerving sense of fear. While he knew it was absolutely understandable that he feel those emotions with Ginny being taken, with Ron and Arthur there, he felt relief sweep through him for the first time in days. It was as if he'd never had good news in his life before this moment. Harry he had to blink several times before he looked at Ron again. "Let's split up and search," suggested Harry, getting a hold on himself. "Each of us take a wing on this floor. Whoever finds Ginny gets her home right away--Floo, Apparation, Knight bus, I don't care—just get her out and then come back and tell whoever's left."

"I don't think we should split up," said Arthur, concern etched on his face. "We don't know how many people Malfoy's got in here. We might need to all fight together to—"

"Shush" hissed Harry, his hand raised for silence. "I hear voices."

All three men stood, slightly crouched and ready for a fight, listening hard.

"I hear it too," whispered Ron, barely audible. Harry could see the knuckles on his wand hand turn white. "In there," mouthed Ron, pointing to the wall opposite.

Harry motioned with his hand to indicate they follow him. Ron, as so many times before, would cover Harry. Arthur would follow up the rear and cover them both.

The broken plaster and shattered glass that littered the floor seemed far too noisy under their feet as they crept toward the voices. The short entrance hallway afforded them some protection, but not enough for all three men in a full-on duel. Harry, having reached the doorway into the parlor, stood with his back against the wall, his wand held ready. He nodded to Ron and then stole a fleeting look around the corner into the large room beyond. He immediately pulled back.

Ron and Arthur looked expectantly at Harry, who shook his head. "No one's there," he whispered. "It's the portrait above the fire…it's full of people.

"No harm can come from them," Ron stated, frowning, "but they know something's up."

"Like us breaking and entering," suggested Arthur, his face grim.

Harry nodded. "Let's move."

Ron quickly spanned the distance to the other side of the door to cover Harry and Arthur as they entered, eyes searching and wands ready.

"Look!" said a witch in the portrait, "someone's here!" She was pointing right at the trio. The gale of voices that erupted as all eyes turned to them was indiscernible, except for the cry, "It's Potter! It's Potter!"

Ron and Arthur fanned out; their backs toward the walls and their wands held ready as Harry approached the portrait. "Where is she? Where's Ginny?"

There was some commotion as bodies in the portrait were jostled about and then Harry saw Phineas Nigellus push his way through to the front. He looked flushed and annoyed, his hat was askew and his robes appeared rumpled. "There are no portraits where they're keeping her, Potter," he said in his familiar nasal tone, straightening himself out briskly. "But with the commotion you've just made, you can be sure you're about to get company."

"How many are there?" Asked Ron, eyeing the opposite doorway.

"I have no idea," drawled Phineas.

"More than five? Less than ten?" asked Ron, impatient.

"Bigger than a bread box, Weasley. I said I don't know...I've never counted their guests."

"They're not upstairs," cried a witch from the back. "I haven't seen anyone up there."

"Me neither" chimed in someone else.

"We heard a crash and came running," said a fat man, panting slightly. He wiped his bald brow with a handkerchief.

Suddenly, from somewhere not too distant, the sound of a door banging, running feet and shouts. Harry immediately took cover behind a nearby chaise while Ron and Arthur found similar bits of expensive-looking furniture to hide behind.

Harry could see Arthur clearly as he crouched behind a large, throne-like chair. The shouts grew closer; Harry met Arthur's eyes as they waited for the right moment. Harry noticed, in those small seconds before the enemy entered, more about his Father-in-law's appearance than he'd really ever noticed before. Arthur seemed to age before his eyes. Harry'd always pictured him as he had been years before -when he'd been eleven- when Arthur's red hair had been beginning to thin and he'd had a little more meat around his middle. Arthur seemed frailer…grayer. He looked tired and old. But in his eyes Harry saw a steely determination so much like Ginny's, that it made his endearment for Arthur grow tenfold.

Two men entered the room, already throwing curses. An ornate grandfather clock behind Harry burst into flames; the sofa Ron was hiding behind turned over, but Ron had produced a shield so quickly that the following, immediate curse bounced off of him as he rolled away. Ron fired back but missed. Harry hit the man from behind with a Stunning spell and he fell hard, face first, onto a clapboard buffet. The crunch of the wizard breaking his nose as he hit was rather satisfying.

Arthur and Ron were firing at the second wizard as a third entered. He was older and rather bent, but he was very skilled, as he countered every curse Harry threw at him. Harry had to try hard to dodge a few of the old man's curses until Arthur joined in. The man couldn't withstand both Harry and Arthur. Arthur hit him squarely in the chest and he crumpled to the floor. Harry looked around and found Ron standing over the wizard he'd be fighting, binding him with cords. Ron pocketed his wand, which would come in handy for identification purposes later, once the MLES were involved.

"I know this man," said Arthur, pointing down at the old man he'd cursed. "I know him; he used to work with me in the ministry years ago. He came to dinner once."

Ron glanced over and shrugged. "Don't recognize him, Dad."

"Farwen's his name, I think."

Arthur looked sad, Harry thought, but only for a moment. They moved collectively to the doorway the other men and just come from. Ron nodded to Harry, indicating that he was ready to proceed. "Hallway's empty."

"I've been down this hallway," said Harry, quickly drawing an outline of the hall with his wand. "This room here," he said, "is where I came in on the Floo Network. And this spot here on the wall, is where I saw that hidden door." Harry marked each spot with an X. He spoke quickly and quietly, "This room," he indicated the fourth door down, "has that wizard I stunned in it. I haven't been up the stairs," he said, pointing to the end of his hallway map, "but I don't think we should waste our time with them. Two witches from the portrait said they haven't seen anyone up there."

Arthur agreed quickly. "I think our best bet is that hidden door."

"I think we should check these other rooms first," Harry suggested. He didn't like that it was so quiet in the house, especially now that they knew there were intruders. There had to be more than three; and where were Malfoy and Rabastan? He could imagine someone waiting for them to pass by and then coming at them from behind. He didn't want to be sloppy about this. He couldn't let his haste get the better of his judgment.

"I'll take these first two rooms," said Ron. "Dad, you take the third one, here." Ron pointed at Harry's roughly drawn map. "Harry, you take the last one down at the end of the hall."

Harry was just about to add that they should all meet together again before moving on, when, without warning, the hidden door at the end of the hall burst open. Four men poured out, all heaving as though out of breath, yet all throwing curses as they emerged. Harry, Ron and Arthur fired back from their end of the hallway. A red streak of light whizzed over Harry's right ear; the corridor filled with smoke and ricocheting bursts of magic. Ron was crouched low behind a bust of a witch, dueling with a stout blonde man. The blonde gave up and ran into one of the many rooms lining the hallway. Ron cursed loudly enough for Harry to hear over the roar of spells. "Bloody cowards!" he shouted, throwing curses as quickly as he could.

Harry threw a curse that hit a man squarely in the face. Blood poured from his nose and mouth as he fell to his knees and then lay prone on the ground. Ron met Harry's eyes and nodded toward the door that his previous target had just escaped through. Harry stepped out into the middle of the hallway to cover his friend as he pursued the escapee.

Harry leveled his wand at the only man left standing, who was nervously surveying the two wands now pointed in his direction. His jaw trembled and a small mewling noise left him when, suddenly, the hidden door burst open forcibly. Harry couldn't see who had opened the door yet, but whoever had opened it wasn't alone. A woman was all but thrown into the hallway and, from the looks of it, she wasn't conscious. She lay in a heap, her arms and legs splayed strangely. Harry's heart thudded painfully. He recognized the woman clearly as Cindy, Ginny's co-worker. Harry silently prayed she was alive. Arthur looked at Harry nervously and in the few seconds of diversion that the newcomer had created, their intended target had bolted. Arthur, who was on the other side of the hall, took aim and fired a Stunning spell that the man deflected. Arthur made to pursue him, but Harry put his arm out as a warning. Someone was emerging from the hidden door; Harry could see a Shield charm glowing around him as he stepped out into the open.

The man was reminiscent of Malfoy's old crony, Goyle. He was quite tall and muscular, but he had a weight to him that indicated to Harry that he hadn't always been strong. His heavy brow hid his eyes in shadow and when he lifted his wand at Harry, his lips curled back to show his missing teeth. He didn't seem at all concerned that there was only one of him and two of them.

"Potter," he sneered. "I'd hoped it was you."

"Who are you?" asked Arthur, his wand trained steadily.

The man glanced briefly at Arthur and his smile widened. "Is that Daddy? Oh, this just gets better."

Harry's muscles tensed. This man, he could tell, was the kind that liked to play with his prey before he finally killed. Harry was disgusted by him. Harry knew that this man had been present for the murders of the Pinnock family earlier that night; his bloodlust was evident. Harry could imagine the sick pleasure this man got from mercilessly cutting down an entire family just to show that he could.

"He asked you a question," Harry stated, straightening to his full height.

"I don't answer to the likes of you."

"Where's Ginny," demanded Harry, his eyes boring into the wizard before him.

The man smiled again, showing his bloody, broken mouth. "You've got a feisty one there. She put up a good fight but I taught her a lesson she won't forget in a hurry."

Harry's wand, in his anger, shot an unbidden golden stream of sparks toward the man. It connected with his shield and ricocheted onto the ceiling. The plaster melted away with a hiss, leaving a gaping black hole.

"Harry," Arthur warned, "keep a cool head."

The man suddenly attacked with a flurry of spells. Harry only just missed being hit with the Killing Curse. Arthur ducked and rolled out of the way of a barrage of errant curses.

"Get Cindy!" shouted Harry. "Get her out of here! I've got him!"

Harry broke the man's shield with a well-placed hex and pressed his advantage. He had to admit that the man was well-practiced at dueling, but Harry knew he wouldn't last long. He could see sweat breaking out on his brow already and Harry could see he had been injured previously by the way he favored his right leg. He hoped that whatever had happened to him, Ginny had been the one to do it.

Harry was able to push the man back and gain some ground so that Arthur could gain better access to Cindy, but not much. Luckily, Ron emerged from behind somehow and shot the man in the back with a Full Body Bind.

"Alright, Ron?" asked Harry.

"Got the bugger in a secret passageway from that room," said Ron, pointing to the door he'd disappeared into earlier. "It opened up into the kitchen and I got him just in time. Got another one too as he was running away."

"Good, Son," said Arthur as he went to Cindy and checked her pulse. Harry watched as Arthur bent his ear to her mouth and then to her chest. "She's breathing but she probably won't be for long if she doesn't get some medical attention.

Harry walked to the man and stood over him. "Take her to St. Mungo's, Arthur. I think Ron and I will be fine here alone."

"Is that Ginny's friend from work?" asked Ron in alarm.

"Yes, Ron." Arthur looked like he wanted to protest leaving but he nodded, eyeing the woman with concern. "I'll take her and come right back." Arthur gathered the woman carefully into his arms and stood with some difficulty. "Be careful," he said solemnly to them both. "And go get our girl." With a icrack/i he and Cindy were gone.

"Where'd this meat head come from?" asked Ron, kicking the man he'd cursed moments ago.

"From the same place as the others."

Ron sniffed and nudged the man roughly with his boot. "He stinks. You know where my sister is?" he asked conjuring ropes to tie him. Ron bent and picked up the man's fallen wand. Once the man was secured, Harry lifted the Full Body Bind so he could respond.

"I asked if you know where my sister is."

The man struggled in his ropes and spat at Ron, who jumped out of the way.

"Why you dirty-" said Ron, before he aimed his wand between the man's eyes, who merely sneered.

"He's not worth the effort, Ron. We're wasting time."

Ron considered Harry's words and, with a grim nod, agreed.

Ron, with a playful smile, held out the man's wand so he could see it and then promptly broke it in two.

The man on the ground growled in anger. "Your sister is a filthy bitch, Weasley, and a lousy fuck!"

Harry didn't remember dropping his wand. He didn't know how his hands ended up around the man's neck, but before he knew it, he was looking into his ugly face and relishing in his startled eyes. He wanted to squeeze tighter and tighter, until the man's gurgling stopped altogether. He wanted the man's body to go limp; he wanted to watch as all life left his eyes.

Ron tried to pull Harry off but Harry held fast.

"You're going to kill him, Harry!" shouted Ron. "You're killing him!"

Harry could only think of Ginny. He could see her hurt, afraid…victimized by this sick monster. He had to die. He didn't deserve to live.

Harry held tight until the man's movements ceased. Harry watched his eyes dim and become unfocused. Ron shook him. "Harry."

It was only then that Harry realized he was crying. Tears fell freely and made little pattering noises as they hit the man's face in the quiet of the hallway. "Harry, let's go get Ginny."

"Did you hear what he said about Ginny?" asked Harry with a sniff.

"Yeah," said Ron thickly. "Let's go get her so she doesn't have to stay here anymore."

The stairs were steep and narrow. Harry held his wand high to try and illuminate his pathway better, but it didn't help much. Ron didn't say anything for several minutes, still shocked from what had just transpired upstairs.

"We've got be several stories below the house by now," said Ron finally from behind. "This place seriously gives me the creeps."

"Yeah" said Harry, focusing on his footing. He could see his breath roil out in front of him in the weak light. His mind was working furiously. He worried about Ginny and how long she'd been in this God-forsaken place under the earth. He'd only been through that hidden door for a matter of minutes and his hands were already uncomfortably cool. He imagined her chained to a wall with nothing but the clothes on her back, shivering and afraid and all alone. And then that monster upstairs…if what he said was true…he couldn't bare to think of it.

"You think it's strange we haven't run into Malfoy yet?" asked Ron.

"He's either run off by now-"

"-at the first sign of danger, no doubt."

"-or he's down here with Ginny, waiting for me."

Ron grunted in response.

After several more minutes of careful stepping down the smooth stone stairway, they made it to the bottom. Immediately in front of them was a solid stone wall, exactly like the stones on the staircase. They were slightly green in color and they looked wet to the touch. They could either go left or right and both paths looked identical.

"How does this lot keep from getting lost?" asked Ron, looking both ways. "And who'd think to put a basement like this in? This place seriously gives me the creeps."

Harry's eyes surveyed the hallways, feeling uneasy. "Point me," he whispered, willing his wand to show him the way to his wife.

His wand spun quickly in his hand to the right. "This way, then."

A/N: I struggled with Harry killing Geoffrey. I wrote it several different ways, one where Ron hexes Harry to stop him from killing, one where Harry realizes what he's doing just in time, but none of them set right with me. I kept going back to how it's written here. I hope no one is too turned off by this, but I just couldn't let him live.

I'd also like to apologize for my long absence. This story WILL be finished, I assure you. There isn't much left to it, really. One or two more chapters and then an epilogue.

In chapter 11, we'll see Ginny rescued (finally!) and we'll all witness her hospital stay and all that it entails.


End file.
